Closer to the Sun

You've Come A Long Way, Baby

2012-01-17T19:28:00.000-06:00

Weekend, Weak Ending

2012-01-10T23:05:00.003-06:00

Did I love the movie 'Weekend'? Yes. Did it frustrate the ever-loving shit out of me? You bet your flat ass it did! I'll start with me and work my way to me sitting in front of my comp crying into my vodka-cran. First of all, I've never been a fan of the notion of love at first sight. I think it's merely a convenient plot-device exploited by unimaginative authors and directors for too long and it's high time we put a stop to the insanity of it all. That was my stance on the issue up until this movie reduced me to one of those people who lie awake pondering shit when I ought to be resting up for another day of tedium. The premise is simple enough: two men hook up and over the course of a weekend fall in love. Happens all the time, right? Wrong. Sometimes two people of the codependent variety latch onto each other and make life for one another hell for as long as they see fit(projecting much?) But more often than not, people typically just exchange numbers, fluids, and then move the hell on. It is the way of things. Not so with this movie, which finds two attractive Brits falling for one another in a matter of hours, and it's actually believable! Surely a happily ever after is inevitable. That is just not the case here, though by the end you really care for the characters and wish it were. No, instead you're treated to a nice dose of reality, wherein love can sometimes be utterly inconsequential. It isn't always enough, love, and it's seldom if never worth putting your own life's ambitions on hold for.

Next up we have 'Another Earth', a story about a girl, who, upon learning that a new planet has been discovered and is visible to the naked eye, drunkenly looks to the sky only to cause a crash that kills a man's family and puts him in a coma. It's not the feel-good romp you might expect, it's actually quite sad. Here's this girl with so much promise in life, who loses everything because of one mistake that she can't take back. I can't really snark too much about this movie, except that it was about 10% actual science and 90% fiction, which is fine because I watched 'Dollhouse'. The payoff is worth the hour and a half it took tho get there, hell, the last 30 seconds alone are worth the price of admission. Just make sure you have a pillow handy because your jaw will hit the floor and that shit hurts, girl.

Happy Anniversary

2011-12-27T11:01:00.002-06:00

The anniversary of my big breakup came and went and damned if I wasn't so busy busting my ass at work that I didn't even realize it. And what a breakup it was! I actually text my ex a few weeks back to thank him for ending things, though the way in which he chose to do so is still a great source of amusement for me. Here I am pining in my mother's spare bedroom, making mix tapes and writing lyrics for the big breakup album I would never finish, and he's having spring break ho-offs with his besties. It's all gravy now, we're both better off. I still haven't built up the courage to read the old emails we sent when we were in the middle of breaking my heart. Well, boys and girls, today is my only day off this week and I'm thinking what better way to spend it than rehashing old drama?

I took a lot of notes post-split, it's quite easy when you have a smart phone. In them I detailed how hurt I was and other such cliches. I wasn't exactly reinventing the wheel, just in a lot of pain is all. All the things I wish I'd said, done, I literally kept in my pocket. That is until now. Effective immediately, all of those notes have been erased. The last one was dated February 18th, right around the time I found out about the cheating. In fact, in February I posted about having done a bad, bad thing. I suppose I'm ready to write about it.

It was after I learned the name of one of the guys my ex hooked up that I decided to do a little investigating. It didn't take much, just a quick search on Facebook, and I was cruising towards ho-town. I sent him a non-judgmental email asking about the details of their affair. It was all very 'Melrose Place', I am aware. He withheld a lot, I would later learn, but he told me enough to make me behave out of character: I propositioned him. Skanky, right? It went something like, "I'm brainstorming revenge ideas, and fucking you is at the very top of my list. Let me know what you think." I was numb at the time, and as cheesy as it reads, I needed to feel something. The only thing better than nothing was any-damn-thing.

We arranged a get together at his place, and after a lot(a lot) of 'sexting' one afternoon, I made my way to his apartment. The encounter, I decided to chronicle, went as follows:

Up the concrete climb he went. With each step his resolve grew, expanded to the point just shy of confidence. The stairwell ended, and after three knocks, he stood patiently at the door for the possible horrors that await him on the other side. A latch turned. A knob twisted. And in a not-so-dramatic fashion the wooden barrier swung open to reveal a tall, skulking young man. Immediately Raul understood why all of the pictures he'd received through email were from the neck up. He would later refrain from calling Alex physically repulsive, that is, unless asked to describe his would be one night stand. He was an assemblage of bones, Alex, wrapped not so carefully by pasty, sagging flesh--a meat-suit, just a few sizes too big. It was akin, Raul thought, to the after photo taken of someone who had recently undergone gastric-bypass surgery. If allowed, Raul could have continued thinking of things with which Alex resembled, but he was here for exactly what he was here for, and dammit if he was going to let something like a lack of physical attraction get in the way of that. He decided right then and there that he would fuck with his eyes closed, and it went without saying that the lights would be staying off.

As it turned out, Alex(obviously I changed the name to protect his identity from the half dozen of you who read this blog)had difficulty performing(his boner was a no-show), and I politely let myself out the same way I came in--none the wiser. So, if you ever find yourself feeling numb, do something terribly reckless with a complete stranger. I kid! I want to advise everyone reading to do as I say, not as I do, but really you should do neither. Trust me, you'll live longer, and you may even prosper.

Happy Anniversary, Cory.

Me Thinks He Doth

2011-12-13T14:55:00.000-06:00

This news is fairly old but I was skimming a blog and stumbled upon a link to an article about 'Teen Wolf' up and comer, Colton Haynes. I recognized this dude from one of the back issues of XY Magazine my friend Rob used to keep next to his toilet. In it he's photographed canoodling with another, equally starving model. The photos are harmless enough by today's standards: two shaved, denim-clad twinks nuzzling and sucking on each others tongues for crumbs like they hadn't been fed in days(because, lets be honest, they probably hadn't). No big, right? Wrong! Haynes' people are doing what they can to remove the photos from several websites with the threat of litigation. They claim that since he was 17 at the time, the photos are thus pornographic in nature. Last time I checked, making out with shirtless skater dudes was what being 17 was all about. In fact, I'm pretty sure that I was the only one on all of the internets who was crying foul when every magazine with a working camera was photographing Taylor Lautner in various states of undress(and in odd, porn'y positions). As a society, we have embraced the objectification of teenagers, and it pisses me the fuck off if I am to be perfectly honest. When did this become okay exactly?

And it's not just in L.A. that you can find people mowing the freshly-grown lawns of teenagers. I work with a 26 year old who is in a relationship with a 17 year old. At first I judged him and deemed him a creep, but upon hearing that the parents of said minor approved, I let it go. Then I find that it's love, and for some reason am even more grossed out then before. It's one thing to exploit the age of consent loophole(I'm only guessing there's a loophole because I don't want that Google search on my internet cache), but it's quite another to call it love. I can't even get the guy I've been dating to call me his BF and it's been, like, 3 months, but this guy is tossing the BF label around after 3 days and the "L" word after 3 weeks? From here on in, I no longer deem you as a creeper and see you only as a moron.

Back to Haynes and his handlers. If it's not the shirtless teens that make it objectionable, what then? The making out with a guy aspect of it, of course. You see, that's the fire that Lautner's publicists have never had to put out, as he has never been photographed making out with a dude. It doesn't matter that Taylor speaking is the equivalent of a halter top-clad shih tzu driving a convertible Barbie dream car, because there's no evidence that he is actually gay. And hey, Haynes could very well be straight, who knows? People do crazy shit for a paycheck. I've mentioned that I used to work with a gay that did hardcore gay porn(NSFW, Obvz). After the scandal broke at work, coworkers speculated about whether or not he was a closeted-homosexual. They asked for my opinion on the matter and I offered that doing gay porn doesn't make a guy gay, to which they erupted with laughter. I was being serious though. I've seen(own)his videos, and they are beyond awkward. I don't think I've ever even rubbed one out to those terrible videos, and that's saying something. Yeah, Colton kissed a boy, that doesn't necessarily mean he liked it. And so fucking what if he did? Tom Cruise is queerer than a double-sided butt dildo but that's not stopping him from making 20 goddamn 'Mission Impossible' movies.

A Year In Movies

2011-12-13T13:19:00.001-06:00

Over It, Not Overstreet

2011-12-05T16:58:00.001-06:00

I'm at a loss for what to write about this afternoon. Everything is going really well for me right now with the exception of a few instances where life has tried to bone me. I had a tough day or two this month actually, including but not limited to, forgetting I had written a check and forgot about it. Dang, y'all, I over-drafted my checking account with a $3 charge at Wendy's and a $5 charge at Warehouse Liquor. Doesn't that just sum up my whole dang life? Whatever, over it. I turned that frown upside down and then made sweet sweet love to it: I took out my first loan! Granted it was only for a couple hundred bucks it was still totes neat. It's pretty cool how loans work. You simply prove to the bank or credit union or what have you that you don't need $$$ and poof, $$$! It's enough to make you feel all empowered and shit. But enough about feeling newly awesome and what not. Closer to the Sun must interrupt your scheduled feel-good rant for some down home bitching.

You know what? I don't got too much to bitch about these days. Work is going fairly well, meaning I'm almost making enough money to pay my bills. It's the end of the year and that means I get to see my family in it's entirety almost semi-regularly, which I'd dig. My fam has finally gotten to the point where we can be ourselves around each other, and let our inner-bitches out for a few hours at a time and no one's delicate feelings get hurt in the process. I'm writing up a resume. This post is mostly me practicing my typing skills because for 29 years now they've mostly been non-existent. When I was in school I guess computers didn't play as big a part in everyday life as they do now. Or just maybe I've simply rested on my laurels for far too long. Already I can feel myself getting better at it. My fingers are starting to "know" where the keys are instinctively. It's a weird sensation actually. Though the more familiar I become, the closer I get to comfort with the practice, I'm likewise growing increasingly annoyed with making errors. Isn't that just how progress goes though?

On a more shallow note, Glee is getting better, of course I'm referring to character development not so much plausibility/believability of it's plot-lines. The new Irish foreign exchange student is adorable, but is total jail-bait. Santana is just about full-blown lez, and I am into it. Mr. Shue has almost completely been written off the of the show, thank Jesus(the gardener, not the son of god). Brittany is still so dumb it's a wonder she's managed to avoid drowning while eating a bowl of cereal-yet. Mercedes is lazy when it is convenient for the show, but awesome, again, when it's convenient. Also, dickalicious himself is back, I am at full-mast.

It's High Time

2011-11-25T23:42:00.000-06:00

A List

2011-11-02T13:12:00.002-05:00

Will I retract what I previously wrote about the cast of 'A-List: Dallas'? Yeah, sure, some of it anyway. Upon viewing the first few episodes, it didn't seem to matter how many cocktails I had in me, usually by the end of it I was ready to punch a nun square in the cooch. I'd be surprised if any one of them was on a list, let alone part of some uber-exclusive social clique. Half of them are fall down drunk(like, they're literally falling out of chairs and into pools)and the other half are, quite possibly, borderline antisocial personality disorder(James, I'm looking at you, cause goddamn!).

We'll start with Taylor(PeeWee), the scheming queen who may or may not have faked a hate crime for publicity. Guy's a stone-cold bitch, and while I typically dig that shit, he's also crazy-possessive and will cry on demand to get his way. Already you dress like Ricky Stratton's stunt double, but to go and ball during a game of poker don't make you any more endearing. And to preface the game by saying your religious convictions forbid you from gambling, only to go ahead and play anyway? Look up the definition of the word 'conviction' while I go put some silver spoons in the freezer for my puffy-ass eyes. This bitch.

I'll go easy on Phillip, because the guy I'm talking to is apparently a friend of his. Sike! What is it with this guy, that we need to see all of his teeth when he talks? I test drove his brand of speaking and after about 20 seconds I'd given my self a headache. That combination of alternately showing bottom teeth, top teeth while also craning your neck and rolling your eyes is taxing, y'all! Maybe I should be giving this slore props for doing it for a living. Really, I applaud your commitment to your craft(not really). I won't even get started on him being surprised that his underwear modeling career ended before it began.

James is about as depressing as an episode of 'Six Feet Under'. If all it takes to be 'A-List' is get drunk and throw a mantrum, then I should be goddamn Paris Hilton by now. Yeah, she takes a butch picture, but as soon as this bitch opens her mouth the paint starts right on a peeling. Again with the needing to show every damn body your wisdom teeth when speaking? Is it like a thing to give guys the lay of the land, a sort of 'your penis here' sort of thing? I'll never know, because if a trick steps to me gums a flapping, I will put my drink napkin in that gaping hole and move the fuck on. But in all seriousness, skip the life coach nonsense and go straight to the psychiatrist(they got all the best drugs, honey).

Ashley got criticized for taking shitty photos of Phillip for Levi's underwear line, but come one, is there any other kind(I couldn't pass that up). Homeboy was back-lit to high hell and looked less like Bo Derek on the beach in '10', and more like Bo Jangles in '3 and a half'(seriously unflattering panties). You can't get pissed that you took a camera with no additional equipment to combat the almighty sun and get pissed that you drowned out your model(that's some photography 101 shit). Next thing you know she's throwing drinks and slapping Levi across his fool face before peacing the fuck out. She can stay.

I'm kind of digging Chase cause she calls it like she sees it. It was Chase that taught me that the big teeth-reveal when speaking is merely an act, because he sure as hell toned that shit down when he was trying to holler at Levi. I was like, 'girl, you forgot yo teef!' His hair is an altogether different issue. It's all very hilarious, the whole 'the bigger the hair, the closer to Jesus'. No really, it's hilarious even after hearing every other drag queen on Earth say it for years(sarcasm), but enough already.

Last but not least, we have Levi. It's kind of neat how at the very beginning of a scene, he perfectly sober, but by the end of it he's flushed, glassy-eyed, and slurry. How long does it take to shoot a scene, people? Apparently as long as it takes this bitch to get hammered. Don't get me wrong, guys got charm for minutes, and I'd hit it once a day, twice on Sundays(church, smurch). But the guy's partying is taking it's toll, and from the neck down he's about as appealing as Urkel(I can't get with no chicken-legged ho). But at the end of the day, in a sea teaming with gay fishies, you don't throw back the only top. Just sayin'.

Folks Always Trying To Bring A Bitch Down

2011-11-02T12:08:00.001-05:00

I don't make it a habit of trying to fix the people around me, as my advice has typically fallen upon deaf ears, i.e. that trick that wants your guidance after walking in on her boo getting dick-deep in a ho, just so her can run and tell boo that "Well, Raul said..." I learned that lesson in high school, so go ask your mama for advice, bitch. No, I won't advise, but I will offer up my own opinion on the matter and relate it, if possible, to something I've personally experienced over my 29 years. If it is perspective you need, I'll happily give you mine, so long as it doesn't take, like, forever because I got shit to do, girr. That said, don't fucking try to tell me something about myself like I don't already know. For instance, at work, don't put me on blast for voicing my annoyance with a table. If I say about a guest, "bitch, grab your Sookie Stackhouse novel and take your ass to Starbucks if you wanna squat for 2+ hours", you are not allowed to call me whiny, because that shit is funny! If I say, "ugh, this table is running me ragged, they can all just eat my farts for all I care", again, you are not allowed to tell me that I have a "bad attitude", because that shit is hilarz! I get it, I have spurned your advances for over two months now, sorry bout it. It doesn't give you license to call me out about shit everybody in the service industry does: talk shit about the clientele. Did I compare a woman eating in my section this afternoon to the fat tranny they brought in on a wheel barrel in the Dawn of the Dead remake? I ab-so-fucking-lutely did. And you know what, it helped me get through the rest of the shift. Am I going to burn in the pits of hell for it, you betcha. But I already marked my calender for eternal torment on account of the fact that I put Ds in my B. Whatever. Over it.

The point I'm trying to make is, people would like for you to doubt yourself, maybe they get off on it, maybe they really want to help. Either way, it ain't cute, so back the fuck off. And random coworker, feel free to holler back when you get your love handle situation under control, bitch.

You're probably wondering what all this has to do with the delightful Melissa McCarthy? Well, her coochie is blowing up at the moment, what with the success of 'Bridesmaids'. She stole the show in every scene she was in, and with costars like Maya Rudolph and Kristen Wiig, that ain't easy, y'all. But go to the message boards on IMDB, and it's all 'she's great but...', 'she's got a pretty face, however...' We get it, she's an overweight woman. Who the fuck cares, also, what the fuck does that have to do with you personally? And you're probably thinking I'm a hypocrite for earlier likening that lady to a zombie. But I sure as hell didn't tell that woman to go into a public establishment sweating profusely, snot bubbling out her fool head(it's 60 degrees outside, how are you sweating?!). If anyone is a bitch in this situation, it's her momma for not giving her a Kleenex or a head's up even. I keep it real, just like the hero of all aspiring bitches, Shangela Laquifa Wadley.

Back to being fat. It is not a disability it's a mothafuckin' symptom. We need to stop entertaining these hoes and start chasing them with heavy implements(cause running away is good exercise, and being terrified burns calories). Maybe McCarthy truly is one of those people, glands just aren't having it? Or maybe who gives a shit mind ya business and quit trying to bring a bitch down.

Chronicle

2011-10-23T20:32:00.002-05:00

Pride '11 Part III

2011-10-06T12:16:00.001-05:00

Pride in Dallas was a blast in the ass, figuratively of course(because I'm a lady). It was actually progressively less fun as the night went on, so I'm gonna start from the ending(my hungover ass driving us back to Austin while Shane slept for 3 hours, what a bitch, right?) I woke up cranky as hell, and ready for my ACL adventure. The last thing I remember was telling a cute boy that he had great gams, cut to me passed out in a parking lot, full-drink in hand. It's a good thing big daddy bear, Brian, was there to protect me from the many opportunistic pervs likely lurking about.

Before that, we were pounding singles(they tasted like triples, for real)at The Round Up Saloon(but it was more like bottoms up that night, ahem). The queens were out in full-effect, and they were all dicked-out in their nicest blue jean coochie-cutters. Pretty much, there was denim as far as the eye could see, as Round Up is a country bar, obvz. And Brian knew everybody in Oak Lawn it seemed, as we were stopping every 10 steps so he could hug and smooch some-damn-body(not annoying, like, at all). Of course Shane's old ass is getting carded while I breezed past security all night like I'm the fucking Frankenstein monster that nobody likes to make movies/write books about. The one without all the plucky-charm. Yeah, I've got bags for days under both my eyes, but you know what, I also have feelings! Any29goingon40, bar-hopping was fun, and there was a bevy of cute men to check out. One thing I didn't notice a lot of was beards, and I love me a man with a beard. This is why I'll not be relocating to Dallas any time soon. Austin is rife with scruffy men to choose from, so it's case-closed for me, for now at least.

We had an early dinner at some local Mexican restaurant and our waitress was a grumpy bitch who clearly hated her job as much as I hate a scorching case of taco-shits. Brian regaled us with his stories about fucking the hobo population of Dallas and how it was, like, him doing his part to help the homeless or something. Shane did something adorable, and then I said something hilarious and bitchy and we basically just kept repeating that process to the discomfort of the surrounding booths. It honestly downright impossible to remember the conversations you have with your gays because they're almost always about sex.

The drive to Dallas was fun, but the road trips with Shane usually are. It's mostly us taking turns trying to top one another(verbally, of course). I knew trouble lied ahead, and I was fully prepared for that shit. But for serious, I had condoms and my economy-sized tub of lube in my back pack. It was totes gonna be a BYOCrisco kind of night, and our lives would never be the same after that weekend. Not really, though, pretty much life is still the same--legit. Have I mentioned lately that life is good?

Quick, Someone Fetch My Beer Goggles

2011-10-06T11:30:00.000-05:00

No but seriously, is this absolutely necessary? I mean, in ways the original was not? I'm not even gonna fuck this subject from the 'perpetuating stereotypes' angle. I don't give a flying double-sided dildo about gay stereotypes, because they're mostly pretty fucking awesome, be it narcissism or cattiness, it's all win for me. But it's like the producers of this shit-storm were hoping to capitalize on Austin Armacost's Southern charm on the original A-List: New York, and spin off an entire show about lispy queens running around Dallas fucking everything that will lie still and climbing the fame-whore ladder to social relevance. They were, none of them, actually "A List"(except for Mike Ruiz) until you shoved a camera up their collective ass for 3 months of tedious in-fighting and betrayal. And of course, by betrayal I mean things like inviting your friend's ex to one of the 12 parties you threw this week(because that's unfor-goddamn-givable).

The problem with this show, is not the inclusion of a female(because the role of 'mean girl' couldn't possibly be filled by a gay man?) It was the inclusion of a female that I would actually have sex with over any of the male cast that is the problem here. First of all, homegirl on the very right is channeling Pee Wee Herman and not in a good way(psst, there is no good way to channel that weirdo). Token, just right of Pee Wee, is giving face, face, face, beauty face, but I'd rather slap that face than fuck it. The show's 'manizer'(from what I've seen in previews) just looks like some random dude 'faking gay' until season two(Rodiney, I'm looking at you). Hot chick, whatever, over it. That brings us to the queen on the back right(somebody call the fire department) that looks like the guy that you can get away with telling you're 'allergic to latex'. Her would totes buy that shit. Last but not least, the cowboy. Alright, I wouldn't kick him out of my ass for eating crackers, but bitch is giving me a straight-up 'Shannen Doherty', which is to say his right eye is trying to get as far fucking away from the train-wreck that will be this show, and lickety spit(and shove).

All bitchiness aside, I will be watching this crap, because bad gay TV is better than no gay TV at all. The exception of course being Chris Colfer on Glee. I want to invent a time-machine just so I can go back and talk his momma into birth-control. My hatred runs that deep.

Let The Sun Shine In II

2011-10-06T10:38:00.001-05:00

I have been neglecting the shit out of this blog and that is about to stop. So much has been going on, where to begin? I suppose the easiest thing for everyone involved would be for me to recap the last several months in list form. Here goes:

-Cory left me. This much you know because I wouldn't shut the fuck up about it for, like, eons.
-I moved in with my mommy for a few months, but in the interest of ever getting laid ever again ever, I moved into the spare bedroom in my old apartment(yes, with Cory). Needless to say it was a nightmare for the reasons that follow:
           -I got to listen to my ex and his new boyfriend have loud, obnoxious sex in the other room.
           -My ex is a hateful bitch.
           -My ex's friends liked to come over and take turns telling each other how awesome they all are.
           -I didn't once get laid while I was living there. Fuckin' A, right?
-I resolved to get the fuck out of there.
-I moved back into my mom's house in the hood.
-I moved to Kyle and transferred to a location in South Austin, making the commute erryday.
-Moved into an adorable efficiency in SoCo.
-Have never felt more disposable at a place of employment(and I worked in Vegas for fuck's sake) and I hate the shit out of it.
-For the first time in a long time I am happy. It is such a foreign emotion to grasp, happiness.

So there you have it. I'm getting laid on the regular, and I'm making new friends like it ain't no thang. Being single in a big city is what it's all about. If I wasn't so broke all the damn time I'd be walking on fucking sunshine no doubt. So far, I've done happy hour like a son of a bitch. I celebrated my 29th birthday with good friends and new friends. I went to a strip club for T's birthday(it's literally across the street from where I live) and it depressed the shit out of me. I went to Dallas Pride with my main bitch, Shane. I went to ACL with two of my besties, Leyna and Jonathon. I'm getting to a point where I finally understand where Lance is coming from(for the most part) and likewise(I think). Also, my pussy is on fire in this city, and I am digging the shit out of it. In a city full of busted assholes I'm actually almost kind of a catch(ish). I'll take it!

Work Woes VII

2011-10-06T08:05:00.009-05:00

The restaurant where I work(like I need to be vague, you all know where i work) can suck a hot cock. There, i said it. I've been so busy living my life that I done forgot to write about it so excuse the hell out of me okay where was I? Oh yes, fuck my job.

It all started one particularly stressful Friday night, wherein a coworker made it clear that she was about to blow that bitch up, that bitch meaning our place of employment. Rather than permitting my new friend to commit a felony, I offered up my arm and granted her permission to vent her frustrations in a healthier manner--by punching me. She jumped at the chance, and just like that, one non-bruise later we're in the office writing statements about what had/had not transpired exactly. "Don't worry, you won't be written up", our manager assured us, and relieved my coworker was as we exited the room. Me? Not so much. We just made it real. By putting it down on paper they had essentially handed us each a loaded gun and talked us into shooting our damn selves in the foot. Fuck you, you fucking corporate zombie fucks. It was this series of events that led to our "paid" suspension, and cost us both hundreds of dollars in lost wages. Did I get to keep my job? Yes. Do I want to skull-fuck my job to death? You bet your cottage-cheese ass.

And it's not just management, or the "Absolutely No Touching Rule", with the exception of a "medium-strength" high-five, (I shit you not). It's the shitty fucking clientele. It's these middle-tier South Austin professionals with their goddamn sensible pant suits and entitled fucking disposition. You is not fancy when you order a goddamn never-ending bowl of soup, and like a harpy, eat from your coworker's salad bowl to save a dollar. Furthermore, you ain't classy when you tell me you need a lemon for your water. Eat my butt, seriously. Yesterday a guest complained after a server explained that the delay on their meal was due to the fact that he wanted to give them time to enjoy their salad, and that their meal would be out any moment now. Really? That was deserving of a five-minute conversation with management about their need to retrain the staff. You just spent $5 and tipped your server in change. Fuck you, and your fucking opinion. I really didn't intend for this to be a rant.

We had a guest, few weeks back, demand to see a manager because she felt her server "had formed a better connection with another guest". I want your life. No really, I want my problem to be that a complete stranger didn't laugh more convincingly at my awful jokes. Seriously, let's swap lives, and you can stay in my apt(which is 300 square feet) surrounded by hippies, and prostitutes, and hippie-prostitutes(oh, they exist). And I can be the asshole who can't get a trained server to show them their teeth. Because we are trained to blow smoke up your ass. We don't actually think you're that funny. We don't really think your child is that precious. And we sure as shit don't want your goddamn business card, unless with it comes the promise of a better job which doesn't require us to eat the shit of fat-fucking entitled South Austinites, Monday-Sunday 11am-11pm.

Don't even get me started on unlimited pasta bowl. You know what? Go ahead and get me started on that shit. I dare you to look me in the eye when you order that nonsense. Guess what? You can't. It is the epitome of gluttonous behavior, to say that an already generous portion of food(that a regular human being would have trouble finishing) is not enough for you to be sated. You need more, do you? I hope you have uncontrollable diarrhea for, like, ever. And the bitches who order another refill and then ask me to box it for them. Fuck. You. Here's an environmentally-friendly(ish) container, go to town. And while you're in town, kindly walk into busy-traffic. "Oh, and can we get some bread sticks to-go, and a to-go cup, and some of this sauce, oh it's so good, to-go?" Here's the deal, y'all: your drink is gonna be 90% ice 10% actual drink. Your breadsticks are gonna be stale as an old dog turd in about 15 minutes. And that pasta that you sucked the Alfredo sauce off of before asking for a side of Alfredo(you are fat for a reason, God didn't do that to you, bitch) is gonna taste like, well, I can't think of anything grosser than a dog turd, but whatever it is, it's damn close. It's not science people. If you are that sonofabitch that has me refill your soup and salad and bread sticks and water(with lemon no less) about 4 times each and over the course of an hour and a half, then you can go to hell and die. And don't be shocked that I'm spending more time fake-laughing with the table that spent $70 on dinner with their honey($70!? We're in the middle of a recession! Take that bitch to Pizza Hut, dang!!). When I look at you, I see a a dollar bill floating over your head. When I look at them I see $15. Who do you think I wanna be friends with? Like I said, it ain't science.

And I know some of you are gonna be like, "quit your job if you hate it so fucking much". "Go back to school if you want to get paid more". Well, fuck you too, you judgmental pieces of shit.

Ral, out!

True Blood Recap 4x7, 4x8

2011-09-06T18:04:00.016-05:00

Granted, it was the townies that ended up inadvertently saving Tara from Pam, she sure was quick to the draw when she had to be. The gun didn't end up making any more of a difference than the lead pipe she used to knock off a piece of Pam's decomposing head, but hooker sure did put up a fight. I'm loving that Tara's girlfriend actually tried to roundhouse kick Pam in the face, only to get knocked on her ass. She could not run away quickly enough, and she even lived to see another day. In the end, though, Tara was fed up with delaying the inevitable(her own violent death), and in typical Tara-fashion took to the bottle once again. It was fortuitous that Antonia, now in full possession of Marnie, found her drunk-ass wandering the dirt road looking for a fight. Because instead of a fight she found a cause: Kill all the damn vampires.

Lafayette playing peek-a-boo with little Mikey was adorable. The same can not be said for Lala's hair this season. That's some Kid 'N Play shit, y'all! Nelson Ellis is a damn fine-looking man, and the person responsible for his do this season needs to be taken out back and beaten with a switch. I'm not really getting why he is suddenly seeing dead folks though, that kind of came out of left field. They dropped hints at him being supernatural in previous seasons, like when he 'sensed' that Eggs was trouble, and when he could 'feel' Maryanne's evil like it was something tangible. We're working up to him being a medium like Marnie, I get that, but like I said, left field. Whatever, over it, because it means my favorite bitch gets more screen-time.

Tommy done screwed the pooch this time. It's one thing to impersonate his brother and fire Sookie for being an utterly useless employee, but it is quite another to bang Sam's girlfriend and then treat her like a whore afterward. The thing that irks me about the whole thing though is Sam's response after learning about Tommy's actions. Yeah, he's a little shit who in a round about way took advantage of a woman, but for Sam to go and nearly choke the life out of him? All the kid has ever known is violence. His own father nearly choked him to death just days prior. He still has the bruises in his neck for shit's sake! Once again, I understand it makes for an entertaining hour of television to have people choking each other out, but the trauma of nearly being murdered can ruin a person's life, especially when it happens on an almost regular basis. Between Jo Lee, the dog fighting, and Sam shooting him, kid's chances are getting slimmer than Sookie's waist-line(seriously, Anna Paquin, eat something).

This show better get an Emmy nomination for makeup this season. I'm 'finger to the lips'(don't Google that) every time Pam's busted mug shows up on-screen. They deserve high-five for putting me off food is all I'm saying. I've lost 3lbs since the start of this season and I contribute that to Pam's face(and, at least in part, Eric and Sookie's sex-scenes). By the way, the image of Ginger riding that coffin with a spellbound Pam in it was just damn golden. She may be a hysterical, excitable, glamored-mess, but she's our hysterical, excitable, glamored-mess. Bless her heart.

The spell came, and boy did it ever(if you haven't been watching, Antonia cast a spell to make all the vamps in Louisiana walk into the sun). Jessica wriggled herself loose and went straight for the front door/sun. I don't get the silver thing though. It makes vamps feel tremendous amounts of pain, but they can still carry on conversations and even rest while covered in it? And when it is convenient for the plot they can throw the silver and go about their day. Continuity, you are a fickle bitch.

Jason swooping in to save Jessica was kind of a 'duh' moment, but it was appreciated nonetheless. She is, after all, one of the few remaining characters on the show that I don't want to kick in the face. The scene was also shot very well, cinematography-wise. One of the show's best, in fact. I can't think of anything bitchy to say right now--weird, yeah?

Not. Fucking. Cool. Eric super-speed rips the throat out of a human armed with a damn dinner tray? Why not maul one of the witches armed with 'actual' weapons? Seriously. And you know that later on, there will NOT be a scene where Sookie tells Eric that, no, she cannot love him because he ripped the neck off of an innocent woman 24 hours ago. She really is all about violent death, so long as it is not the violent death of one of the vampires she happens to be fucking. Groan.
Tara killed her first vampire! She fought the urge to purge immediately afterward, but she blew that random vamp straight to hell or wherever it is they go when they go boom. This would have been the perfect opportunity for one of them to kill the other, because Jesus Jackson it is long overdue. Unfortunately, both walked away from this fight fully intact. Did I mention how unfortunate that is?
Once again Sookie's glowing hand solves all her problems until it doesn't, of course. Friendly fire lands her on her back, once again reverting her to damsel in distress. She may have shiny, magical abilities that she refuses to hone, but all she will ever be is a princess waiting to be saved. We have that in common...

It was 'Operation: Black Shield' with Marnie this week. She literally marched a bunch of defenseless humans into battle, unarmed, against vampires and machine gun-wielding humans. If you haven't realized yet that she is the 'big-bad' of the season, you should come sit next to me, because I still have hope for this bitch. I hate the portrayal of vampires on this show that much.

Killer Spoof II

2011-08-11T10:28:00.001-05:00

True Blood Recap 4x5, 4x6

2011-08-09T15:43:00.015-05:00

When Sookie met Marnie

"Lady, when my Gran tells me to run, I run." Gran also told you not to bang your undead landlord, but we all know that one of your Fairy abilities is selective hearing. It is pretty neat though that Marnie was able to communicate with Sookie's Gran--doubly so that Sookie could hear her grave warning about staying the hell away from Marnie's crazy-self. There's a reason Jesus, Tara, and LaLa left your ass in the woods: you're nothing but trouble looking for a place to happen. I'm not Sookie's biggest fan by any stretch, but she's got enough shit to deal with as it is. Keep on keeping on.

It was quick-thinking, Tommy shifting into an alligator to make short work of Andy's nosy-self. Granted his first instinct was to kill him, you can tell he's growing as a person that he settled on just making the detective poop all over his polyester pants. Also, he'd filled his murder-quota for the day when he took a metal pipe to both his shitty parents. So long, Ma and Pa Mickens, we hardly liked ye. We hated you actually. The only thing you managed to do was put Tommy's fine ass on this planet, and even that ain't so much good as it is the other thing. Little twerp just can't pass up the opportunity to screw his brother over, it's like genetic or something.

Marnie is not so powerful that she is immune to glamoring. Also, Antonia will show up whenever it damn well suits her to do so and not a second sooner. Bill kind of impressed what with his willingness to confront the witch knowing full well the damage she had inflicted on Eric's mind/Pam's face. Guy's working with some serious nuttage, I'll give him that. And it was worth it to see an eavesdropping Pam and the look on her busted mug when Marnie confirmed that there was nothing she could do to stop her rotting. You reap what you sew, zombie-bitch.

Oh, she's only seventeen! Not really, but I still get a little squicked out when Jessica is shown in a sexual way, even though I know the actress that plays her is 26 years old. Granted, it was only in a dream sequence, I can still be up in arms about it, I reserve the right to do that. I don't get why a cameo appearance by Hoyt was absolutely necessary, but it made for some funny. Almost as funny as when Bill learned that he was screwing his great, great, great, great-granddaughter--almost.

Watching Eric toss Bill's ass like a rag doll was worth the price of admission all by itself. I don't like that Northman has been reduced to what is essentially, his teenaged self. Nor do I understand what Sookie finds so appealing about that. Again, it is one of many squicky things about this show that I could do without. We get it, people in Louisiana like to bang their relatives, let's move on now Alan ball, shall we?

"Gotta get it up in the corners."

"That's where the evil hides." I know this to be true from watching 'Insidious'. By the way, that movie scared the bejesus out of me. I don't know why I got it in my fool head to watch it alone at night. Some lessons you only have to learn once. Oh, and the only demon in that room is Lettie May's crazy-self. People don't change--not really. Where once her high was booze, it is now apparently self-righteousness. You keep on waving around that rolled up newspaper, honey. What's wrong with this woman, trying to smack a demon on the nose like you would a dog. I got a feeling she'd be more likely to scare a demon out of a house if she showed up to it drunk. Run-of-the-mill demon would take one look at her, and go all 'oh, hell no', maybe even throw in a side-eye.

Just so we're clear, this is just an excuse to show Jason Stackhouse shirtless, cause goddamn. Speaking of, hooker, you just spent like three episodes tied to a bed. I don't think I could even sleep in a bed ever again if what happened to him in Hot Shot had happened to me. But there this fool goes, handcuffing himself in his chonies first thing he got home. You know you're an idiot if even Sookie looks at you like you're deficient.

No, this is not footage from Lafayette's website('LaLa's first facial'?), he just got his very first possession is all. considering that Antonia is not a big fan of self-control, someone's gonna need to check that crispy bitch, and it may as well be the biggest bitch in town, Lafayette himself. Marnie's over here cutting herself up to get into Antonia's favor, and all LaLa needed to channel was to see his sweetie get bitten by a rattlesnake. Was it fucked up that Jesus's own Papi threw the thing at him? Absolutely. Was it necessary? Oh, hell yeah. But like Marnie, will LaLa's life or that of his loved ones need to be threatened before he can call forth another useful spirit? I'm thinking yes. Let's just hope he stays away from Spanish-speaking spirits, because his pronunciation is not so much fantastic.

This bitch. I get the 'HULK SMASH' mentality that Pam has. I would be grumpy too if my face was falling off. But she knows damn well that Tara is walking around with a pistol, and that every one of those wooden bullets has her name on it. On top of that, Tara is part of the coven that messed up that pretty face of hers, and still Pam shows up at Merlotte's looking to take a bite out of her and her girlfriend. She don't learn. She do not learn. I'm thinking that one of these women has got to go. Kudos to Tara for not only showing up on a hundred year old vampire's radar, but for becoming an actual nemesis. It's looking more and more like Tara is gonna put a bullet right in Pammy's pushup bra. That is what it is looking like.

It Gets Better

2011-08-09T13:56:00.003-05:00

Speaking of True Blood, this is Kristin Bauer's 'It Gets Better' video. If it does not make you cry, check your pulse, cause you just may be dead inside, honey. Seriously though, this has to be the sincerest video of this kind that i have seen, and I have seen quite a few. It's a far cry from the absolutely insane character she plays on TV, and I kind of love it.

True Blood Recap 4x3, 4x4

2011-08-09T12:58:00.010-05:00

Say 'hello' to Antonia. 400 hundred years ago this chick got burned at the stake, and now she's back to make life hell for vampires. Personally, I think Eric got off light walking away sans memories. He shouldn't have walked away at all, motherfucker that he is. Maybe his light punishment had something to do with it merely being Antonia's first time possessing Marnie. Just maybe. Either way, I'm on board with the arrival of bonafide witches, cause I'm sick as hell of vampires running around killing and raping every-damn-body in town! At this pint, is there a single person in Bon Temps not suffering from post traumatic stress disorder?

Speaking of rape, it doesn't just happen to women, loyal viewers. Crystal's drugging and the women of Hot Shot's systematic raping of Jason is nearly enough to make me stop watching this damn show. It's just so wrong, taking away someone's ability to consent. I don't want to get all 'soap-box', but we're talking about essentially ruining the life of another human being. I don't think a lot of people understand that, least of all those that commit the act of rape. We are fragile beings, though capable of great feats, there is only so much a person can take. I think if I woke up with this inbred-bitch in my lap, I'd probably bite off my own tongue in hopes of hemorrhaging to death out my mouth. And what is on her face exactly!? Looks like Herpes done took the whole damn thing over. So ready for this storyline to be wrapped up, though that's not likely now that Jason inadvertently got an entire town pregnant. Let's pray he's a blank-shooter.

Bye, bitch

Claudine, you could not get off my screen fast enough. You should have stayed in Fairy land and far the fuck away from Sookie's house, which, as you know is fully stocked with crazy-ass vampires that wanna eat your ass. You had it coming. Now take your fake British accent to wherever it is that fairies go after they die.

Tara is really bringing it this season. Her accent is, for once, not so exaggerated that I want to shove a Q-Tip through one ear and out the other. On top of that, this Tara action figure comes with a fully loaded pistol(with wooden bullets no less) in the trunk of her dream car. Tara has been up and down and around the corner since the first episode of the series. Let's break it down, shall we? Season 1-crazy, drunk-mess. Season 2-crazy, drunk, possessed-mess. Season 3-a little bit less crazy, not as drunk glamored-mess. Season 4-Sober(mostly), lesbian, witch, vampire fighter. I'll take it.

This is not just an excuse to post a shirtless Jason pic, I swear! His character is further proof that you don't need supernatural powers to fight the fuck back--just a very sharp implement and some momentum. I don't remember Crystal's boyfriend/cousin's name, and I don't care enough to Google it either. I am just happy that his death brought us one step closer to being far the hell away from that disgusting storyline. He was violent, incestuous, and he killed his own daddy/uncle in cold-blood. Adios, fucker.

Lastly, Pam finally got what was coming to her, again, courtesy of Marnie/Antonia. You can't go around talking that much shit and not expect to eventually get your comeuppance. Eric learned that lesson, it was only a matter of time before his progeny did as well. It was pure-genius cursing her to slowly decompose and become the corpse that she would be were she not turned 100 years ago. And the makeup crew for TB ought to at least get an Emmy nomination for the work they do to achieve that rotting look. I can't even eat while she is on screen, and you know I love me some food. Good couple of eps, but I'm ready for shit to start getting really crazy.

Good To See You... Look Like Crap II

2011-08-09T11:24:00.005-05:00

I don't know why it was that I was so damn apprehensive about attending my 10-year high school reunion. I could give six shits about what anybody thinks about me least of all a bunch of assholes I haven't seen or thought about in a decade. "You used to call me a fag behind my back, good to see you got fat. You used to call me a fag to my face, good to see you went bald", may have very well summed up my evening. May have, if it hadn't been such an epic reunion weekend!

Friday night was the casual, come and go cocktail mixer at The Corner Bar on Northgate. I fucking gave myself diarrhea stressing over that shit, for realskies. Shane was kind enough to accompany Stephanie and myself for what promised to be an exercise in nausea/faux-pleasantries. Upon first entering the second floor where the event was being held, I headed straight for the bar(because, duh). It was there that I ran into Addison, and things took a turn for the worse. I asked him how his job managing Boston's was working out, to which he informed me that he "got fired a year ago. Fuck you, thanks for bringing that up, asshole!" I literally don't even know where I was a year ago, let alone possess the skill to recall the emotions I was processing at the time. This was obviously within his ability, and after chewing me out, the little fucker took off in the opposite direction. Awesome. I was there for 2 minutes and already I'd been cursed at.

As I waited patiently to order a drink, I look across the bar and none other than Erin was not 5 yards away doing the same. I shot a deuce and shouted "Howdy, Erin", to which she responded by mouthing a very deliberate 'fuck you' right back. I was 0 for 2 at this point, and could not get my drink/buzz any faster. From there it was all uphill for the most part. If you told me I looked "exactly the same!", I bid you adieu. If you, after 10 goddamn years, were still too cool to talk to me, I bid you a fuck you(Cody). Just about everybody there was stroked to see me, which I greatly appreciate(in general really, I appreciate). The 'A Group' mostly stuck to one corner of the bar, where, like a royal court, waited patiently for the commoners to approach and pay their respects. So humble, them.

Lacey, the class president and my former frenemy, got crazystupidfat. Stephen and Mike, my old drinking buddies that ran for the hills upon discovering my sexual preference, had both adopted a mullet. Chris, former object of my lust, got the trifecta-bald, fat and creepy--poor thing. Andrew, prom king, looked exactly the same from the neck up, from his chestits down it was all bloated and bad. I mean, these were the Christy Masters and Billy Christensens of my high school, and they looked more like the people of fucking WalMart. I'm over here stressing about my serious case of poops, and these motherfuckers looked about 5 years late for an AA meeting. No judgment.

But in all seriousness, we got pretty tipsy courtesy of every-damn-body buying us drinks/shots. Nobody died on the way to the parking garage. The same was almost not true once we got to the parking garage. Stephanie backed into a couple of parked cars before stopping to puke out the window and reassuring us that she was "almost done!" This was when I told hooker to get in the passenger seat, I got this.

The next night was the formal at The Hilton, la-di-fuckin-da. I did not expect that I would be the sharpest looking son of a bitch in attendance. Some guys showed up in their very best pair of Wranglers? Eat my butt, seriously. I'm over here stressing about my scuffed shoe, and I'm posing for pictures next some busted bitch decked head to toe in Baskins Spring line.

11pm rolls around, and the bar runs out of "free" wine and beer. The "free" wine and beer we paid $30 a pop for. So I head over, second and last beer in hand, to the buffet table to get my money's worth. That shit was just sitting there congealed as all hell, cause the prostitutes responsible for this shindig forgot Sternos. The food was just supposed to stay heated with their good intentions, y'all. No wine or beer, no food, and the place looks like it was decorated by actual highschoolers(about 10 poster boards with pictures of the same 12 people glued to them. That's some Hobby Lobby, decoupage bullshit). That's three strikes, four if you want to get technical, bitch. Add to that the fact that I can't find Stephanie, I'm officially frustrated. This is when I leave the reunion and head for the actual bar in the hotel lobby, where drinks were sure to be about 3 bucks cheaper. This is where thing got a bit more interesting.

I'm making conversation with the bartender, and up walks a cute guy with a beer in his hand. He's handsome, in good shape, and 49 fucking years old! I told him he looked better than a majority of the guys at my 10-year(true story), and he proceeded to buy me shots/drinks until I was brave enough to make my way back to the reunion to dance the rest of the night away. I was ready to go to bed with that old bastard, but like a ghost he vanished into thin air. Is it possible that he was just a friendly spirit, came down to give me the strength to go back into that banquet hall and dance like nobody was watching? Not a fucking chance. He was a traveling businessman willing to pay a perfect stranger for their company. Basically, I'm a whore. The end.

What What, In The Butt

2011-07-12T14:18:00.005-05:00

I don't know how the subject of anal sex came up, but last night over drinks with friends it sure enough did. I suppose with three gay men in the room, it was bound to happen at some point. One might assume that we all shared an opinion on the topic, whether it be 'yay' or 'nay'. One would be wrong in doing so. I believe that the prostate, the male 'G-Spot' is there for a reason, and as long as you're not shoving a fist up your butt, it is a matter that ought to be tended to. Call me a deviant or what have you, I don't see people as these mythical beings created in anyone's image--temples that need to be preserved. I merely see us as living creatures like any other, who are tasked with finding whatever pleasure we can during our stay on this planet--so long as no one is harmed. Dog's lick their privates, right? And it's not to keep them clean, people.

Another opinion was that pleasure was not worth feeling any discomfort whatsoever. If pain is a part of the process, than just skip it altogether. But what about the saying "no pain, no gain"? In my opinion, if your only experience with anal is pain, then you're fucking the wrong dudes. I come from the school of thought where, your duty(I said duty) as a top, is to make sure that the bottom gets his cookies first, so to speak. Why, you ask? Because a top feels no pain, is not taking the risk that they might accidentally crap all over their sheets, or couch or public restroom, or wherever it is you happen to be fuckin', ho. And part of ensuring that the bottom 'arrives', is making sure they feel as little pain as possible. Don't just go all 'Brokeback', and spit and shove that monster.

The last opinion on the matter, from the third gay anyway, was that 'taking it' turns you into "a little bitch". That you become 'the women' in such a situation. Hold. The. Fucking. Phone. Y'all. You're seriously going to equate being a woman and participating in vaginal intercourse, to being "a little bitch"? We're not talking about sex as an exchange of power. We're not talking about prison or rape or any kind of abuse for that matter. We're talking about two(or three, or four)consenting adults engaging in protected butt sex. We're talking about the pleasure principle. Having a vagina does not by definition make you less than anything else. Babies come out that thing, folks, do I really need to remind you? So after shutting this bitch down, I had to warn him that he's got a good 30 years left with those little bits 'tween his stumpy legs, he'd best make use of them now while he can. Our actions define us, true, but I'd rather be getting judged and having lots of orgasms than the other way around.

Which brought us to the next topic of conversation: promiscuity. Mine is the belief that we're all adults charged with making emotional and, god-willing, sexual connections with other attractive, healthy adults. Otherwise, go be a monk or a nun and get out of my dating pool already. If you are afraid to be open about your views on sex, than you are probably engaging in shit you know you ought not to. It is none of anyone's damn business who or how often you bang, nor is it their lot in life to judge you for either.

Gay #2 alleged that we're free to do what we want, so long as it's safe and stays between the two(or three, or four) people involved. Basically, that people can't peg you if they don't know what you do behind closed doors. This is fair, but it also suggests that we should be afraid or ashamed were anyone to find out that your toes curl when you come. When really, who gives a shit?

This brings us to opinion the third: if you are promiscuous, you're just a slut, case-closed. You're a whore if you have casual sex. I feel like there's something wrong with you if you're empowered by using such language on another human being. It's some self-loathing bullshit is what it is. You're afraid to be who you are, a sexually mature, gay male, because to be such would cause you to also feel tremendous guilt. So, you abstain, and you call people with active sex-lives, "sluts". How very pious you are. But at the end of the day, the sluts, as you so charmingly refer to them, are getting off on the regular. While you are stuck pulling your pud daily. Sexy beasts-1, Self-loathing homosexuals-0.

True Blood Recap 4x1, 4x2

2011-07-11T15:18:00.013-05:00

So, the faerie storyline is getting scrapped, thankfully. If I had a quarter for every time someone asked Sookie, "What are you?" I would have enough money to buy a bus ticket to L.A. so's I could personally slap Alan Ball across the face--twice. The first few minutes of the premiere was looking like some Charmed shit, and you all know how I feel about that 8 season-long train wreck that just would not stop happening. For those of you that don't, hop on over to my 'word cloud' and familiarize yourselves. For every time you read about me ripping that show a new asshole, you get an extra year added to your life. Or your money back. I mean seriously, we got busted faeries running around throwing energy balls at each other. Did not whet the appetite.

Errybody, lookout. We got a crazy-horny vampire on the loose, and her name is Jessica.You can't expect me to believe that a vampire with a stubborn hymen would ever in a million years agree to be domesticated with that gentle-giant, Hoyt Fortenberry. Guy is 7ft tall and looks like he's packing dick for days. And while typically that would be considered a good thing, we're talking about a chick who's cherry has got a Wolverine-fast healing factor. Ouch. You bet your ass, if I had a cranky coochie, I wouldn't even need to be a blood-thirsty vampire to go on a killing spree. And you can quote me, bitch.

Speaking of cooch, Tara is eating it now, apparently. I know a lot of people would say that it's bad writing to have a woman who's been in a string of bad relationships with men start dating women. Well, those people don't know shit. Men are monsters who run around blowing their loads all over anything that'll lie still long enough, and women are ethereal creatures of beauty who can create life in their bellies. Look, the man she was in love with was a whore hooked on V, her fling turned out to be an alcoholic with anger-management issues, her boyfriend was shot in the head, and she had a balls-crazy vampire stalker who's brains she personally had to bash in. Let's not begrudge homegirl some sweet lady-kisses.

So, Sookie reemerges from a magical faerie-land(which was basically a water fountain and some trees), and is back all of five minutes before she's running back to Bill for help. Old habits are hard to break, sure. But couldn't Bill have zipped his pants up any faster? It's just ri-goddamn-dookie that he's supposedly in love with her, but any time he's not around her he's banging chicks and biting strippers. I don't want to see that pasty man's ass on my TV screen anymore. He is not hot, we've covered this plenty in the past. Bitch looks like that white dog crap from the 70's, and I'll never stop saying it. I'll shout it from the fucking rooftops. Speaking of that awful character...

The way Sophie-Anne was dispatched? Lame. First of all, it was very clear that Bill being King of New Orleans meant that the queen was, in fact, dead. And no one was holding out hope either, because she was an insufferable, little bitch. But Bill is an even bigger bitch for not giving her a fighting chance. And just a side-note to the writers, it's hard to be shocked about someone dying when you already know they're dead. Just so you know. And while I understand that the AVL has a big ol' steaming mess to clean up after Russell Edgington, the only 'good' vampire this show has ever shown us is Jessica, and she still sometimes kills people. On accident, but do you think that matters to the dead folks? They keep using the metaphor, vampire=gay, but the vampires on this show are evil pieces of manipulative shit. Last time I checked, gay people just like to sit around gossiping like 13 year old girls. That ain't ever killed nobody, y'all.

And last but not least, we have witch drama. Eric walked into that magic shop talking real big, and walked out with his motherfuckin' tail between his legs, thanks in large part to resident-loon, Marnie. I was stoked that Tara didn't just turn around and walk out the door when she saw Eric with a mouth full of Marnie's old ass, but instead tried to go all Buffy the Vampire Slayer. It almost got her killed, but at least she didn't go all PTSD and piss herself like Lafayette every damn time a vampire walks in the room. We get it, Eric made you poop in a pot for three days while you were chained up in his basement. I would trade you places like that, bitch. Hell, if that hillbilly you were locked up with hadn't gotten ripped to pieces, you might have even gotten a blowie before too long. But alas, we'll never know.

Pride '11 Part II

2011-07-08T14:53:00.007-05:00

Last month, with the exception of a few nights with some of my besties(you know who you are), was boring as shit. This was in large part due to my main bitch, Shane, studying abroad in France. I think I ventured to Halo twice in his absence--just not the same, y'all. Not only does standing next to him move me from about a 6 to a solid 7 on the hotness scale(because pretty is contagious, you stand close enough to it), but some of the stuff that comes out of his mouth is fucking hilarious(as for what goes into his mouth, well that's simply none of our business, now is it?).

So last night when he proposed we venture downtown for Drag Bingo with Tijuana's own Kara Dion(sans the donkey that made bitch famous), I was, of course, down for that shit. Cut to 20 minutes later and I'm alternating between yawning and eye-rolling. I'm sure it had absolutely nothing to do with Kara's coked-up ass paying us very little attention. I'm sure it also had nothing to do with Shane's dull(ish) BF making my ass a third wheel. I am, however, sure that it had everything to do with how predictable it had all become. This was the routine for months, you see. So when you upset the routine, you start to see it for what it is(hello, my last relationship): tired, hot-mess. Same ol' busted hoes, different fucking weekend.

I once heard a story about a local bar ho, it goes something like this. Bar ho takes a guy home for some shower sex, and when he sees what his trick is packing, he realizes that, 'no honey, that shit just won't do'. So homeboy reaches for the nearest shampoo bottle and puts it up his butt, y'all! His butt!! A shampoo bottle!!! I know you're curious about a lot right now, but what I'm sure you're most curious about is how this disgusting tall-tale has to do with me? Well, hold your motherfuckin' horses cause I'm getting there! Always trying to rush a bitch. Where was I? Oh yeah, I am that big ol' stretched out butt-hole. And the gay scene in this town is that dinky, unassuming ding-a-ling. What I need is a fat-fuckin' shampoo bottle to make me happy, and College Station/Bryan is just not that.

This is why we will be attending Dallas Pride this year. Come September 18th, it will be on like Donkey-Schlong. Trust. I'm getting a glimpse of the future as I type. It is of the two of us on a hillside, backs turned to one another as the wind tries to blow our hair(unsuccessfully of course, because Shane's hair is too short and I have a goddamn afro). Below the image of us standing in silence, a caption reads: "They were never the same after that weekend."

And. I. Cannot. Fucking. Wait.

Pride '11

2011-06-27T21:05:00.010-05:00

This weekend was the most, to say the least! I drove my sad ass to Austin for the Other Lives concert at the Parish. It would have been awesome if not for the fact that I am no longer familiar with Austin. I parked, I paid, I waited patiently for nearly three hours for my new favorite band to perform. What a fucking waste of money and man hours. The show was pushed back an hour, and the opening act also had an opening act. I got to listen to some disposable garage-band perform for nearly an hour before finally departing the stage and my life forever. I got to listen to Lives perform all of 5 songs before rushing out the door to save my Malibu from an inevitable impounding. No but really, the band put on a terrific performance--what I saw of it anyway. They performed 'As I Lay My Head Down', 'For 12', and 'Dust Bowl III', so I really can't complain. Who the fuck am I kidding, just like jello, there's always room for complaining. I even contemplated driving to AZ to see them all the way through. Arizona, where you can get carded for driving while brown. The contemplation-process did not last long as I could neither afford that or fuel to get there. While we're on the subject of money. Concert ticket-$14, Other Lives t-shirt-$15, bar tab-$30, running through downtown Austin like a fat fucking hipster in skinny(ish) jeans and ironic Hanes Pocket T-priceless! From there it was all down hill until further hill down. Getting lost in Austin+killer-buzz+menacing bicycle cops=me throwing my plans to attend a live Robocop reenactment at Highball out the window and driving to Kyle to drink with my big sis instead. The next morning, I didn't fall asleep once driving back to College Station! All I do is win, win, win no matter what!

For this Westward ho, Pride would have rocked had it not been for the Houston-heat! After getting to the smog capitol of Texas, Tom and I had lunch at Barnaby's in Montrose, and then braved the Spec's downtown for refreshments. From there, Rob, Tom and I pregame until it is way past high time to get to the parade. Once we arrive, we're stroked to find that it gets remarkably hotter the closer you get to the actual parade. The crowd was hammered, and the sun had only just gone down. It was balls-hot, y'all, and I was worried that at any minute I was going to get puked on by any one of the many hot-messes in attendance. We decided to just quit that bitch and head back to their place for more pre-drinking. From there it's on to some gay club called Meteor(?), in the homo district. Randy Blue "models" were go-go dancing their little cock-rings off for singles that were likely drenched in tit-sweat. Bless their hearts. And believe me, I am not complaining. Call me weird, but I find muscular men with zero inhibitions and loose morals to be very attractive.
Reese Rideout live was a roller-coaster of emotions, if emotions=boners. I really don't remember much about his performance, I was more occupied with trying not to outright drool in front of the other bar patrons. Gavin Waters shared the stage, and although that man looks like he could suck the sheet off a ghost, he really does nothing(much) for me. He looks like, were you to turn him upside down schoolyard bully-style, you'd have lunch money falling out his ass-hole and coke-stained boogers falling out his nostrils. Dang, I'm just saying! Porter Wescott was also in attendance, and of course hooker acted like he didn't know a bitch from way back. Whatever, I won't hate on that little monkey too much, cause dayum!

Now, Please

2011-06-14T10:02:00.000-05:00

When It's Over

2011-06-08T01:16:00.005-05:00

Who was I before I was one-half of a one, two punch?

What did Cory and I have to say to one another on what would have been our 6th anniversary as partners? Not a damn thing. No mention of it was made, except my telling him to throw away the cake that we would have enjoyed had we stayed together like we vowed we would.

Last night we talked about what will happen when we say goodbye. I don't know if the possibility of us being together still exists in his mind, but for me, right now, it just doesn't. I have a hard time believing that I'll ever trust another man, let alone him--not completely anyway. 5+ years of lying will do that to a person. I look back on our time together constantly, and I search for evidence of his cheating that he may have left behind, as though I could reach back in time and save myself from the heartbreak that awaited me. If only I could go back and read his emails while he wasn't looking. That way I wouldn't have to wait nearly six years to learn about his indiscretions.

But it was not my intention today to write about how much of a bastard my ex is, though that much is certain. Mine is to simply wonder how it is you let go of your bastard? Because it is after all high time. I'm not prepared for what saying goodbye to him will entail. It will be a long goodbye, and we'll both be better for it. We may have kept each other from sinking for just over five years, but only just. More like it, towards the end, we were doing what we could to stay afloat even if it meant pushing each other under.

The thing about me, I'd surrendered so much of myself over to him that I forgot who the fuck I was before I met the son of a bitch. I've always been a loner, that much is true. I was always the guy who preferred to see a show alone, whether it be a movie or a concert. On Wednesdays, I'd take a soda and whatever comics I'd purchased that day to read at the park. I read before bed, and fell asleep every night listening to music. I exercised regularly, and took good care of my skin and teeth. I made sure to trek to Austin whenever I could, party hard, and drive back early the next day always stopping at Jack & the Box on the way. I was a minimalist, and carried a backpack with me wherever I went. My room consisted of a bed, a weight bench, a computer and not much else. I was always jealous of my roommates because they were usually getting laid more often than me.

I don't want to be 22 again, I just want my six years back dammit! Is it so much to ask for a second chance? Cory and I weren't meant to be together. I simply grew tired of saying 'no', and settled. I would have been a fool, I always thought, to keep saying 'no' to that much love. I don't even know what I'm saying anymore.
I had a dream a few nights ago. In it, Cory left me again. He broke my heart again. I felt it again. But it's not his to break, right? I'm not in love with him anymore, right? I can't be, not after what he did. That would make me a damn fool. Certainly I don't intend to act on it. The question is, will it ever go away? Is it merely our proximity? Is it the fact that every day he is looking more like the way I remember him(red hair giving way to brown, thin becoming once again chunky)? Could it be the fact that he is increasingly less cruel? Because reverting to a love frame of mind is unacceptable if it's based on a familiar comfort. There is no 'Cory that I know', because I never knew Cory to begin with or to end with for that matter. There was never a 'Rory', though we'd like to believe otherwise, because we were never a team. I never fully committed, or I wouldn't have spent so many nights wondering if I'd made the right decision being with him. And had he truly believed in us, he wouldn't have spent so many nights wandering into strangers' beds.

So then, if we were never truly partners, what exactly am I mourning? Why exactly am I staying up late to look drunkenly at old photo albums like some living, breathing country music video? Why do I let it hurt me that he sometimes looks at me like he's trying to remember who I am, can't quite make out my face? Maybe because it's easier than moving on with my life.

But maybe it's about time either way.

With Love, Always With Love & Work Woes VI

2011-06-02T12:45:00.007-05:00

Money, man. Money. I'm this close to giving truck-stop tuggers to guys, go by the name of Buck or Bubba or what have you. I work 40 hours a week as a server and sometimes bartender at one of the nicer restaurants in town, and I'm not pulling in the kind of money you would expect for someone who spends the majority of his shifts eating shit from fat fucking entitled townies. Seriously, you have never seen fear until you look into the eyes of a 300lb man who is almost out of bread sticks. Stop feeding the fat, bitch, and start counting your motherfucking calories.

It's all about denial really. Were I telepathic, I imagine looking into the minds of most of my clientele would result in a single image. The image would be of them with their backs turned to a mirror, index finger in both ears saying over and over again, 'lalalalala'. As though it is perfectly reasonable to deny the cottage cheese that has accumulated over the years, while at the same time actively contributing to it by ingesting 3,000+ calories in one sitting.

It's the same thing with women. I don't care how loudly and proudly you declare your love for the garden salad, salad didn't make you fat. Don't put that on salad, y'all. "We just love the salad!" Tell it to your ass, bitch, as it is sooner than I to believe you. "It's why we keep coming back!" So you're telling me it's not for the 1,500 calorie plate, and 150 calorie bread sticks that you just ate 6 of? I'll make sure to bring you extra butter so you can lube those sticks up before shoving them into your cake hole. Put enough on there, won't even have to bother with the chewing. Skip right on past that step, now now now.

We literally had a woman complain that her entire meal was ruined because her server didn't put enough ice in her refilled glass. Seriously!? "The first glass was perfect, but the second?" If there is a hell, I want to be sitting next to you, bitch. Did she get her entire meal free? Of course she did. Just like the lady who had a panic attack in the lobby when it took her server more than 2 minutes to return with her credit card. Now you're in a hurry to leave? After ordering dessert and treating yourself to a cup of coffee. I mean, I get it. You grated an entire brick of cheese over your salad, how else are you gonna take a shit within the next two days without a coffee enema? But to wander around the restaurant telling anyone who will listen just how awful an experience this has been? I'm sorry, but my dignity, though sometimes fleeting, is worth a little bit more to me than a free meal.

Speaking of dignity, I am just about sick of being judged for writing/talking about my sex-life. Look, I can count on my hand the number of sex-partners I have had in 28 years, maybe two hands. The point is, who the fuck cares? I have a coworker who calls me a slut every chance he gets. Look here, motherfucker, if my dick has been in your mouth, you lose the right to call me by that name(unless we're in bed). I'm awkward as hell in person, and it's kind of a miracle I ever managed to lose my virginity in the first place. So let's all join hands and celebrate that little miracle, shall we? Or you can just kindly fuck off.

I met Raja

2011-05-25T14:48:00.003-05:00

I've mentioned the Sisters Dion on this blog before. They were a big part of why Mardi Gras in Galveston was an epic gay-romp. They are fucking quick and they have wit for days on top of being fabulous. I've gotten to spend a lot of time hanging out with Kara lately, because every Thursday she pulls the balls at Halo's Drag Bingo. I sure as hell don't go for the bingo, I go to listen to her cut down every bitch that walks through the door, and boy does she ever! It was on one such night when she informed me that a close and personal friend of hers was none other than Rupaul's Drag Race Season 3 Winner, Raja Gemini. I gave her a side-eye and my 'bitch, please' pursed lips(perfected over the years). That's when Miss Kara whipped it out--her cell phone I mean. She pulled it out of her pants and put it right in my face she did. Texts and raunchy pictures of, like, grannies giving blowies amongst other hilarious sights. My mom's glasses almost flew off her face when I told her that she was a mere 2 degrees away from one of her favorite contestants this season.

Cut to Shane and I trekking to Houston(or as Sidesho refers to it, the armpit of Texas) for an early dinner with my old running buddy, Rob. Rob has a grown up job, but was kind enough to make time for a couple of downtrodden ho-bags like us. We went to a restaurant in Montrose, Houston's gay mecca, for 10 dollar burgers at Barnaby's. I told the boys that for me, dating was out of the question for the time being. That unless a 6" tall, 35ish year old man with salt and pepper hair, a good job and a dick for days hollered at me, I was off men for at least a while. But mostly we talked about sex. We went to some run down gay bar where the go-go boy was actually a fat Mexican man with a bad attitude. Luckily for everyone in attendance, he did not have poop on his chonies. Anyshitstainedass, where was I?

Back at Rob's place we made cocktails and talked about, again, sex. This is what happens when you hang out with gay boys, it turns into a episode of Sex & the fuckin' City rull quick. And I am not complaining. I told Rob that this is what he was missing in Houston, snarky-ass gay friends. They are in short supply these days, you know. "Go out and get you some bitchy queens to hang out with, girl! Or better yet, fag hags." Rob tried his damnedest to not drink because he had an early run the next morning, but 15 minutes of sex-talk was all it took to break that old ho. Three beers later, and two cocktails later we were rolling up to FBar to find that there was a line out the door and around the corner. They were at capacity, with no hope of getting in short of about 25 people walking out before the show even started(not gonna happen). How did we overcome this harrowing obstacle placed before us by some invisible force intent on foiling our plans? Find out in the next paragraph!

Faced with no other options short of inventing a time machine and traveling thirty minutes into the past, I did the only thing that made sense right then and there: I whipped it out. That's right, I pulled out my cell phone and texted Kara to inform her that her boys were in a pickle. About 60 seconds later I hear someone yelling my name from behind the club, it was Kara's crazy ass. She rushed us through the crowd and on the way to the back door we stopped by a travel trailer where none other than Raja was powdering her nose(tucking her job)before the big show. Bitch tall!

The rest of our FBar experience was fucked. It was hot, crowded, and overpriced. 10 dollars for a double. Suck my dick, FBar, seriously. The show was good though, and Raja has a good stage presence(as if I didn't already know that). There were a lot of hot messes out that night as well. Some bear was creeping on Shane as I approached the bar. I made quick work of him, trust. I ordered a shot while this dude whispered sweet-nothings into Shane's ear, and then homeboy caught a whiff of tequila and went, "Ugh, I can smell that from here!" To which I replied, "I can smell you from here, bitch." Done and done. By the time the Galveston Gays showed up, we were ready to GTFO. On our way past the travel trailer, I knocked on the window and Raja came out to say hello. "On our way to a circle-jerk, boys?" she asked. After we picked our jaws up from the floor, Raja kindly agreed to pose in a quick photo with us. Fabulous.
After some unnecessary bar-hopping, I threw a deuce(not the same as dropping a deuce, mind you)and hailed a cab. 5 minutes later I was scaling a gate and walking my fine ass to Rob and Tom's apartment for a bit of late-night Grindr'ing. Seven hours later I was peeling a pillow off of my matted up head, and trying like hell to find my backpack and contact case because my eyes were trying to cough up my lenses. An hour and a half later I was exactly where I needed to be, bed. It's where I should be right now actually, but I just had to share the above pic with the rest of the world. Be jealous, bitches.

Are You Ready To?

2011-05-09T12:28:00.009-05:00

When I explain to my straight friends what Grindr is, I simply say it's "the gay IPhone ho-app". There is nothing more to it, but to meet local man who are DTF. IMHO, the gay community is much better off without it. The very first afternoon I signed in to the app, I got a message from a guy asking, "wanna fuck?" Seriously, it's noon on a Tuesday, who has sex at noon on Tuesday? Needless to say, I was at a loss at how to handle such an offer. I was naive in those days, some two months ago. I just replied, "sorry, I have to go to work." Because even though this guy put the 'ho' in 'ho, stop', does not mean I have to stop being a lady. That doesn't happen until later on in this post. Stay tuned!

The very next day found me at Hastings shopping for used books. A guy with the screen name 'Masculine' sent me a text to ask "Where are you?" First of all, his profile pic was of a velvety-looking curtain. What does it say about you that you chose a frilly piece of fabric to represent you? I responded simply, "at the bookstore", which apparently confused him or enraged him because he stopped messaging me after that. He could have been my 'someone', this 'Masculine'. But alas, now we'll never know. On the subject of inanimate objects posing as human beings in profile pics, I chatted briefly with a guy who had a running shoe as his. One running shoe. I asked him if he was a runner, and his answer was "no, I just like shoes". Fair enough.

I can't hate on Grindr too much, as it often served as an ego-boost. You'd get messaged stuff like, 'cute', 'nice pic', 'hot', etc. Did I mention that gay men hate full-sentences as much as they love noncommittal replies. Honestly, they don't even like words the way they are intended to be spelled. 'Okay' was replaced with 'k', 'thanks' with 'thx', 'what's up' with 'sup'. The list goes on, and it's as boring as the rest of this post has been up to this point. Let's get to the nitty-titty, shall we?

I met a guy, inappropriately aged of course. And it's a tale as old as time, really. Boy meets boy old enough to be his much older brother. Boy rents motel room and the two have mind-blowing sex, go to dinner, and then back to sex. Was it skanky? Absolutely. Was it exactly what I needed to finally get over my ex? You bet your lubed-up ass it was. I had wondered for years what it would be like to go the rest of my life, never having touched another man again. The level of commitment and effort that goes into monogamy is considerable. Luckily for me, my ex fake-divorced my sad-self saving me from that most bleak of prospects. Big thanks to that cheating bitch.

Now before you gather the townsfolk to run this ho out of town, keep in mind this was a one(two) time thing. I don't make it common practice to rent cute(ish) rooms for obnoxious sex. I'm not the type of person who is just gonna run around fucking the mattresses off their box-springs at all the local lodgings. Only a total whore would treat themselves to multiple orgasms in one sitting(ahem) with an almost complete stranger. And that's just not me, no sir/ma'am. Okay, there was one other guy, but that was a completely different situation altogether.

I chatted for some time with a nice young Asian man. Now, you all know about my yellow fever, I've been very up front about that. Thanks to Harry Chum Jr., I get a half chub every time I drive past the Panda Express on Texas Ave! True story(lie). One night he invites me out for a drink, and me being the dick hole that I am, suggest the bar closest to his apartment in the event that I have to leave his ass there to walk home. Because of course he doesn't have a car! Things went surprisingly well, and we never lacked for conversation. The only problem being that the more beer I drank, the harder it became to understand every other word that came out of his mouth. Though in my defense, it's possible his Korean accent got thicker the drunker he got. We may never know, because the next 'date' we went on was absolutely disastrous.

Look, youth of America, it is not okay to spend an entire evening text messaging your friends while on a 'date'. Nor is it okay to ask your date to accompany you to some Grindr-ho's house for margaritas so that you can get him to drop your drunk ass off at home afterward. I am not gonna be that sad bitch who got 'roofied' on a Monday night, not gonna happen. You know what else is not okay? Wearing 'dorm shorts' and a hoodie out to a restaurant. And on top of that, texting me later to give me the life-shattering news that we should just be friends? Don't worry, the utter lack of actual chemistry already took care of that for you, 고마워. 고마워, very much.

There have been other Grindr misadventures as well. There's the guy that I was foolish enough to give my number to, who likes to randomly text me with gems such as, "Hey, what's up? Wanna fuck?" Pure cl(ass). I had to tell another guy that I had "a scorching case of herpes" because I'd had enough with his late-night text messages that never went any-damn-where. If you are gonna 'sext', it needs to very immediately be proceeded by actual sex--call me old fashioned, that's just how I roll. Well, my trick worked like a charm, and the guy is up and fleeing the room whenever I happen by, as though he might catch my fake-herp through eye-contact. Whatever, problem solved, though I have to wonder who all he's told about my imaginary STD? If I gave a nutty-shit, I'd probably ponder this further. Luckily for me, I don't.

Coming up next on the ho stroll, we'll be talking about Manhunt. Stay tuned!

He Said, He Said Bullshit

2011-05-07T10:04:00.006-05:00

I am so over the gay scene right now. Scratch that, I think I'm over 'gay' period. I don't even know where to start, so much has been going on lately. The reason behind my lack of posting is because I've been wading through a sea of bullshit.

I'll start from the end and work my way to the beginning, post by post. Here goes.

Yesterday Cory informed me that the reason I don't get a lot of attention from guys at the bar is because I dress like someone with low self-esteem. That's fair. I've been rocking the same pair of 38" jeans for over a year now when I'm actually a 34" these days. Go me, right? Funny story, which I'll expand on later, I was walking down 4th(gay) st. in Austin last weekend and my pants literally fell to my ankles when I jumped off of a curb. That's all it took to get me out of my pants was a little bit of good old fashioned inertia(if you feel I'm using the word incorrectly, kindly fuck off). The point I'm getting at is, my clothes no longer fit. It's a good problem to have only if you make enough money to go out and buy new clothes. So here I am, newly svelte, and I look like the best dressed hobo at halo. Problem. I took this advice constructively, and I put on a pair of gray Gap slacks, a fitted navy Express shirt, a black belt and black dress shoes. I looked like a hundred and fifty bucks. No really, that's how much the outfit cost. I had a couple drinks before heading out, and did so just in time to wait in line at the entrance behind the dumbest and coincidentally loudest heterosexuals on the planet. Awesome.

First thing's first, I made a bee-line for the bar, to the bartender that, after four months, has finally learned my drink. Upstairs the show was already going on, with Coco Chanel doing her best Cher impersonation, and that's all I'm a say about that. I ran into one of my bar buddies, Steve, who informed me that I looked like I was in a jazz band. "Thanks?" Side-note, He also told me that he had no idea I was muscular. I decided to just take all of it as one big compliment, and move on. From there, I ran into some old high school 'friends', one of which looked to be 28 going on 40. He did a double take when I approached, and proceeded to look at me like I was a ghost for the entirety of the conversation. I also took that as a compliment, because he was obviously shocked that someone could actually look better after ten years. It was either that or I had a whopper of a boog hanging out of my nose. Whatever, my ass looked cute enough to eat out of.

It was all downhill from there. But then I have to ask myself, was I ever at the top of the hill to begin with? While exiting the dance floor, I run into a friend of a friend who I very recently threatened to push down a flight of stairs. I know, it sounds crazy, but the skinny faggot just cannot stop misquoting me to save his life! You have to piss me off pretty bad for me to remove you from my FB, which the fucker did. It went as follows: I'm at a friend's house watching a couple of inbred, British motherfuckers about to get married, and my phone is blowing up with texts from a guy, wants me to come over for the same thing that any man wants at 3 in the morning. And who am I to deny him? When I get there, he is not alone. And since I don't do 'parties', I finished my drink, and kindly made my exit. This is when it got weird(er). My friend offers to show me to my car(because, you know, I wouldn't be able to find it otherwise). I oblige, because who am I to turn down an act of kindness from a Southern gentleman? After he climbs into the passenger seat(big shocker), he instructs me to drive around the corner where there is no way his boyfriend(?) will find us. Not a chance he'll be smart enough or quick enough to find us in the 20 minutes we spend in the car doing what guys do in cars at 3 in the morning. Hoes-ville, I know, but I gots to get mine from time to time. The muscular midget really went for it! And when he was done, I don't know why, call me old-fashioned, but I felt the need to return the favor. Something I would later regret(my throat is still not fully healed). There really is nothing pleasurable about a guy that feels the need to ram his small(ish) penis down your throat, as though to what, prove a point? Well, I got the point. You're coming in loud and queer, pocket-gay. After giving the guy the shirt off my back(I literally gave him my shirt, you know, to clean up) I drove home feeling like a total prostitution-whore. I got to do the walk of shame without a shirt. And I've been putting an index finger in each of my ears and going 'lalala' every time I notice the shirt, balled up and shoved underneath the driver's seat. Oh, and I'm forgetting the best part. There was a stuffed puppy on the floorboard of the passenger seat when I was doing my little circus act, and every once in a while it barked at us to voice it's disapproval. Inanimate objects can be so judgmental sometimes.

Okay, so back to my Halo adventure. I run into "the boyfriend" on the dance floor and we pretend that we can actually stand one another, even though the guy likes to twitter everything I say and don't say with equal fervor. Then out of nowhere his fat-fucking lackey with unfortunate facial hair grabs him by the arm, zero eye-contact with me by the way, and pulls him away. Alright, queen, that's strike one for you. Five minutes later, I'm walking out of the bathroom and past the bar, and fat bastard, walking in the opposite direction, makes and does not break eye-contact with me, because we're in high school after all. I stop to consider what my life has become, and turn around to make sure that that had indeed just happened. And I see that he is staring at me still from about 20 feet away. Really? That's strike two, bitch.

And why, I wonder? I haven't even had the displeasure of speaking to the guy, and he's throwing me shade? At least get to know me before hating me. Is that too much to ask? Maybe I should throw salt at the slug, watch him slowly dissolve. Or is writing this post simply validating his every action? Maybe, despite my claiming the contrary for years now, I like drama? Some of you are going, 'duh'.

So what did my dressing nicely and walking with a new-found confidence that only money can buy get me? Not a goddamn thing. But this only leads me to more questions, such as: Do I really want a one-night stand? No. Do I want the headache that is having a boyfriend? Hell no. Am I merely looking for the approval of men because it's easier then the effort that will go into me fixing me and finally approving of myself? Maybe. Just like I'm taking a sabbatical from Grindr, I'm taking one from Halo. Stay tuned for the next post where I talk about my Grindr adventures!

Other Lives

2011-05-03T00:26:00.000-05:00

Might As Well Face It

2011-04-06T16:43:00.007-05:00

Took my mom to see Sucker Punch this afternoon. She doesn't know this, but it was actually my second time watching it; the first time being with a new friend. We'll leave it at that for now. What can I say about Sucker Punch? I'm pretty sure critics are still ripping it to shreds. You know how they do. Pajiba was no exception, of course. They make a living out of skull-fucking the rotting corpses of even the sorta-bad movies playing in theaters. Of course, I live by their reviews. They are most often painfully accurate. I feel like, though, they missed the mark on this one. Sometimes movies can be good, without having to avoid referencing every film and published work the world over. Sometimes, the not-so-well-read among us can enjoy a film for exactly what it was. And Sucker Punch was precisely what it was: fucking depressing as hell.

I noted in the last post, my disappointment with their decision to go the 'kill every dang body in the movie' route. That's fine. No, it's not fine. As if their lot in life wasn't depressing enough, a group of young women locked up in a mental institution, perhaps deservedly, only to be subjected to the sexual abuse of the wardens. I understand fully the evil of men, and I know what people will do if given power or authority over those weaker than them. It's a fucked up world, and we do what we can to cope with it, some things healthier than others of course. But what does a person behind bars do when escape if not an option? Retreat. And the furthest a person can retreat is into their own head. Baby Doll does get what she wants in the end. But ask Sara Goldfarb and she'll tell you(she won't, she's a vegetable), lobotomies are never the answer and they seldom make for a happy ending. I suppose it's just as well. The movie, Zack Snyder's baby, is being poorly received. It's not like any studio is going to be putting a bunch of money in his pockets anytime soon, least of all for a sequel. Oh wait, isn't he directing the Superman reboot? Don't get me wrong, as fascinating as it is, the story of an alien stronger and faster than anything in the galaxy with a severe rock allergy... never mind that's not fucking fascinating. At. All.

Something happened about twenty minutes into the film. I felt something in my heart--an absence. I knew I was no longer in love with Cory. I knew as much nearly 2 weeks ago. But today, I actually felt it. I expected I would feel relief. Where is my fucking relief!? There's a hole, where love used to reside, I'm sorry, but I'm lacking for a more cliche way to describe the sensation. I want the love back! I want the love back? The love was confusing all by itself. How was it possible for me to still be in love with the man who lied to me for four years, who cheated on me with multiple men, each varying is disgustingness? Disgustingness is not a word, but you would forgive my use of it were you to see the men he stepped out on me for--trust. I suppose that it's not, and instead of the love slowly leaving my body, it was forced out against it's will. There is a hole in my heart, and it's in the shape of a fist. My subconscious mind wasn't about to leave it to me to reconcile my loss--the heartbreak. My id has been doing it's push ups, readying itself for the moment when I let my guard down, possibly while I was having crazy-good orgasms(thanks, new friend) to sucker punch the longing for Cory right out of my pump. The only problem with that is, now there's a vacuum in my chest. And if I'm not careful, it's going to suck me right in. Where previously I had to worry about the threat of bursting out of my shell with anger and rage, now I have to be concerned about my imploding in on myself. So, in a way, I am like Baby Doll. And boy, do our options suck.

Hunks(?) at Halo

2011-03-31T22:43:00.003-05:00

We didn't know what we were getting ourselves into. Innocently enough, I shot Shane a text informing him that there would be hunks at Halo, and on a Tuesday night, had he any interest? "I'll go if you go", was his reply. Fair enough. And by fair, I mean that's basically a dare. It is so on now, friend.

That evening, I went with a friend to see the new Zack Snyder, Sucker Punch. I walked into the theater expecting zero, and left feeling a bit heartbroken, to be honest. It's to be expected when the guy in charge of 'who dies?' just gives up and kills every damn body. I don't mean to spoil the 8 of you that frequent this blog, but really you should be punished for your loyalty, as should everyone that shares said character flaw.

That night I ventured to Murphy's Law for a double, and patiently awaited the (late) arrival of Shane and Co. We made our way over and were pleasantly surprised to find barely-clad men of Olympic level gymnastic ability, picking up, tossing, humping etc., anything that could be mistaken for human. They were each clad in unavoidably hideous briefs, and some were, more than others, all too familiar with methamphetamine(maybe they're born with it?).

As you can plainly see, no one was safe, not man, nor woman, nor in between. I narrowly avoided a dry hump session by one of the more strung out performers. How you escape being over the clothes molested by a coked up stripper is, you try to look as broke as possible. And really, that's my bag, baby. Always has been, always will be.

There's really not much to say about Hunks at Halo, except that if you're willing to stay in tip top shape and travel and hump men, women, and inanimate objects with equal fervor, you're probably better off than most college graduates. At least in this economy.

Oh Hell No

2011-03-07T19:32:00.012-06:00

My Mardi Gras: Galveston Experience was hands down, pants down one I will never forget. I was having dinner and drinks with Robert and Shane Thursday when I mentioned that I had the weekend off for whatever reason. Shane invited me to go on a trip with him to see old friends, and I said 'what the hell, may as well'. I didn't know what I was getting myself into, but I would soon enough find out.

We left town at about 5pm, and made it to Galveston in time to eat at a seawall restaurant as well as watch an episode of Touched by an Angel before Steven arrived home to greet us. After we were all ready, we ventured to 3rd Coast for the drag show, etc. My first impression of the bar was, ew. I'm not hating(much), but I'm just so used to Halo, and the barely legal clientele. This place had all sorts of old in attendance. I got no play, big change of pace there. But I was content to stand there with my drink and take it all in. Fun was had, and I met a bunch of new people. Friday night was a success, though pretty tame when compared to what transpired the very next day.

After lunch Saturday morning, Steven received a text message, and immediately declared that we were leaving for Robert's Lafitte, 'the oldest gay bar in Texas', though after arriving I realized the slogan should have been 'the oldest gays in Texas', cause damn. The men's rooms boasted running water, and not much else. On top of that, there were mirrors at waist level in front of all the urinals. Lovely. We used the chaperone method when going to the restroom was absolutely necessary, and with good reason. Being the youngest men in the bar we naturally flocked to one another for protection. We twisted, turned, revolved, rotated. We did whatever we had to do to get away from the pinching, caressing and straight up groping from the older, hornier men in our midst. We witnessed a male stripper doing his thing on stage, seemingly oblivious to the presence of a brown stain on his chonies, running up the length of his crack--awesome. It wasn't long before the same glitter vest-wearing leprechaun that had been squeezing my biceps every time he made his way past me, had turned his sights on our poo-stained dancer friend. Yes, for the low, low cost of 4 bucks, you too can dry hump a stripper on stage with the same fervor typically reserved for stray dogs.

Outside would find us surrounded by other horrors and whores, namely 'leather daddy'. Leather daddy was a hairy, middle-aged man in what appeared to be an outfit comprised completely of black, leather belts. He was a crowd favorite, him. This was when I made the acquaintance of the twins, I want to say Kara and Tara Dion, two Texas performers, though this afternoon they were out of drag. Bear with me, because I had a hard time distinguishing between the two of them. Kara, observant as she is, noticed that leather daddy's ball was peeking through his jockstrap. This was when the crazies started coming out of the woodwork. 40, 50, 60 year old men were down on their knees faster than I could find a sharp implement to gouge out my own eyes! Kara had a brilliant idea: homegirl put leather daddy's dick in a hot dog bun! It was like watching an alien bust out of a ribcage, except, you know, hilarious. If you simply must see what I'm talking about, shoot me an email or whatever. Just be warned, what you see can not be unseen.

As fabulous and hilarious as the Dion sisters are, there's a reason not all drag queens are paid to travel such as these lovely ladies. As we're standing on the back patio, here comes Tara, followed by gentle giant, Polly Grip. Tara, with a comical look of disgust, shouts at Polly, "Girl, you forgot yo teeth!" That's right, Polly Grip didn't get that name for no reason. Bitch had legs for days, but teeth for nevers. She was in good company though, as we would find that the dress code for Lafitte's was, 'no shirt, no teeth, no problem'. As soon as Tara was through taking a picture with a toothless man in front of the bar, up walks a completely round woman, also with not teeth and no problem saying cheese while flicking her tongue between her index and middle fingers. Cl(ass).

I don't know who's idea it was to go to Subway, but off we were. The problem would have been fitting 6 people into a two door Jetta, had Tara not volunteered to ride in the trunk. She's a good sport, that one. It was no wonder that when we did breathalyzer tests on ourselves at the owner of 3rd Coast's house, that she blew the highest, .14--drunk bitch. Naps came next for Shane and myself. And then the painful process of waiting for Steven to get home.

Next stop was Michael's loft in downtown Galveston. Wow, what a flat, with a view of the city and everything. He was a great host, offering up beer and booze to an apartment filled with mostly strangers. It wasn't long before we made our way back to 3rd Coast for the Dion sisters' performance. We mostly missed it, but I made it up to Kara by buying us each a shot of Yeager. I even got to see backstage, which wasn't as glamorous as I would have hoped. It didn't stop me from dancing my ass off yet another night, though. There really is something to dancing like no one's watching. It makes you feel all liberated, for lack of a better term. I even made out with a cute guy, which was nice. Fuck if I remember if he was any good at it. But it needed to happen, and I'm glad it did.

The next morning(afternoon) we dragged ourselves off the bed, couch, ground respectively, and headed to Fish and Stuff. The food was greasy as shit, and my sinuses caused me to basically bleed out in the public bathroom, so much so, that I looked like I had just started my rag as I exited, and I did but quick. We said our goodbyes, and made our way back home laughing nearly the entire way just like the trip there. And really, what more could you ask for? Achy smile-muscles is a small price to pay for an unforgettable weekend. I look forward to seeing those guys again, and before too long. We were baptized in blood, and booze, and lube and all sorts of things. Now, I just gotta sit back and wait for Pride '11. It's going down this year, y'all.

I Did A Bad Bad Thing

2011-02-26T22:08:00.004-06:00

I've had a very interesting couple of days. Sometimes in life, you are slapped in the face with change. Well then, pain comes around the corner and cracks you across the jaw. Shortly after, heartbreak makes it's way over to kick you in the dick. You get where I'm going with this. In response to some life-changing(shattering, life-shattering) news, I was left with a fun new side effect. Now, I've written about the toll that stress can take on a person's body, specifically my body. But for two days I discovered a fun new way in which mine could take me hostage.

I lost my appetite. That's right, ladies and gentlemen, I lost the ability to enjoy food for a whopping 48 hours. Yeah, I forced myself to eat, almost successfully. But I may as well have been shoving paper towel down my throat. I might have preferred it actually, because my mouth was very inexplicably dry. In order to swallow salad, I first had to lube it up with plenty of dressing, or else I was just chewing nonstop with no exit strategy except back out the mouth. Really, for someone that enjoys food as much as I do, it was hellish, those two days.

Accompanying my utter lack of appetite, was an all-encompassing feeling of numbness. You don't know numb, until your ex tells you that he cheated on you repeatedly with the same person over the course of 3 years. You don't know numb, until he tells you that never once in three years did they bother to exchange names. You don't know numb, until he tells you that the sex "was awesome". You. Don't. Know. Numb.

(How utterly self-indulgent, right?)

Hopefully, you and numb never make each other's acquaintance.

I had to do something to restore this utter lack of sensation. I had become a void upon hearing this news. I was gutted; all the while, a figurative knife, one in place for weeks then, had begun to turn oh so gently in the part of the chest where my hearts resides. I was too many things at once, and in response my body just decided to stop processing information. Naturally, I resolved that in order to return to my former state, a 'jump-start' would be in order. But how? I had been leveled by then, beyond the point of reasoning and simple arithmetic. I can keep on abusing metaphors, or I can tell you what I did next. But then, I'm not quite sure I know you well enough to do that.

The Five W's: Black Spark Edition

2011-02-23T09:07:00.009-06:00

Who is Black Spark? That's a good question. Far as I can tell, he is a film student from New York and his works to date should not be considered porn, despite the porn elements, i.e. penis in butt, mouth, etc. I've seen a few of his pieces(ahem), and was just floored by 'Dance Inmyheartnow'(link is so NSFW). Be it the introduction of 'Seven Spark', or the inclusion of Groove Armada, a band I would subsequently grow to love despite them being responsible for 'I see you baby'. You could argue that his art is merely the inter-splicing of music, text, and hardcore gay sex footage. Yes, you could argue that, if you want to be a bitch about it. Or, you can sit back and enjoy the show.

What is Black Spark? Well, let's hope he is not litigious, because I'm borrowing this photo as a point of reference only. To simply Google 'black spark' will find you just short of an utter lack of results. He hasn't finished doing what he has set out to do, so until then, this is all you get. Unless! Unless, you are overcome with curiosity and find that you simply must see for yourself, in which case, to the search engines you go.

When is Black Spark? Fuck if I know. I'm getting a lot of 'Coming Soon' everywhere I go to learn more. Be it on his Facebook pages, his tumblr, even the official Black Spark website, all I know is he'll be coming soon. I could get crude right about now, but sometimes jokes are too easy for me to even bother making them. Really, sometimes they make themselves. Coming soon, indeed.

Where is Black Spark? Chicago, Illinois last time I checked. But who knows, really? Have you looked out back recently, he could very well be on your lawn banging a dude with a mask on, as he is prone to do. Because anonymity is apparently the name of the game, lest his project be compromised. Some allege that he has a history in the adult entertainment industry, that the secret to his identity is simply finding the actor with a name that rhymes with his new alter ego. Personally, I could give a flip-flop fuck as to who he used to be. I'm eager to see what he comes up with next.

Why is Black Spark? Because, simply, why the fuck not?

Show Me The Money

2011-02-22T14:52:00.003-06:00

I got an email a few days ago from one Sarah Miller regarding my blog. In the subject line read: Suggestion for meltingambitions.blogspot.com. Before my mind could stop to consider the fact that Sarah Miller is probably one of the most common names in this great country, it went first to the fact that Cory just so happens to have a friend, goes by the same generic name. My first thought was, 'Oh, hell no this bitch ain't coming to me suggestin' shit about shit!'. First of all, my name is probably common as poop on your shoe in Mexico, so 'generic' isn't a personal attack against his friend in the least. And last I checked, she wasn't a bitch either, but my mind is, and he'll jump to any conclusion he likes.

As it turns out, the email was from a completely different S. Miller, and on behalf of article-writing-services.org. Miller claimed that she had a client interested in advertising on my site. Considering the fact that my head couldn't physically get any bigger, I have to approach everything, skepticism and cynicism first. The possibly that someone would be willing to pay me to continue writing just seems like an alien concept, which is to say that it would be out of this world awesome. However, I'm not so naive to think that my name wasn't just copied and pasted like so many before me. And obviously, I replied requesting a sample of said company's work(which she promised didn't involve porn or gambling, 'and why not?', I wondered).

Two days later and I'm still waiting to hear back. Until then, I'll just have to busy myself with reality. Because the possibility of money falling into my lap, well, "that's a long wait for a train don't come"(thank you, Mal Reynolds).

Really though, I don't know if I would be prepared to turn this space into a secondary source of income. I'd probably have to delete a fuck-ton of copyrighted photos, and it would just take minutes, maybe even hours to do so.

My Precious

2011-02-15T20:28:00.005-06:00

My new favorite. I wasn't fucking around about that Fuckit List. Details to come.

Okay, It's been nearly a week and I am no closer to knowing how to playing this thing than I was when I first bought it. It's collecting a remarkable amount of dust and Zoe fur, though, and in a fairly short span of time! Let's see, what else I got going on? Well, I have yet to unpack all of my belongings. Call it denial, or just plain laziness, either way it's not getting done. I think deep down I'd hoped Cory would take me back and what a waste of time to have to pack everything up again. Now that that's not on the list of 'things that are likely to happen', you would think my first order of business would be organizing this bitch I call a room. Well, who told you you could think?

A big condragulations to my girl Leyna for landing a new job and finishing the LIVESTRONG marathon in 04:32:01. I'm not quite sure if not finishing is even an option. Short of dropping dead, I think it's like murder, in that once you start you pretty much gotta keep on going. In all seriousness though, kids, murder is no joke and should be left to the professionals. Also, it looks like I may have found some potential roommates in Austin. I'll keep you posted for sure.

I look forward to beginning my Austin-Raul lifestyle transformation. Losing 20 pounds will be the first step, obviously. Because, despite the fact that hipsters have embraced the love of side-fat, I hold true to the notion that there's nothing sexy about the perspiration that pools under your tits and above your love handles. Really, I think step 2 will be to find the hooker that coined the term 'love handle', and slap the dicks out of her mouth lickity-spit. Step 3: tattoos! Nothing says 'fuck you' to the man like a sleeve. People always laugh at me when I propose a sleeve comprised entirely of robot-versions of all my pets, past and present. I may have to brainstorm something else... Step 4 will be to buy a helmet, because you can't ride a bike in Austin, TX without expecting to get hit by the occasional car. Step 5 will be to really hone this beard of mine. I've kind of let it go to shit in the past month. I lost the electric razor in the divorce, so I've taken to just avoiding my bosses at work lest they send me home to clean up my neck. If it wasn't a 25-30 minute drive to and from work that wouldn't be such a problem, but alas.

Maybe there will be more steps to my hipster transformation, such as learning how to knit, or what have you, but that's yours to guess. All I know is, the further away from the life I made here the better. There's nothing like working basically spitting distance from the place you, until very recently, called home. On top of that, knowing that you can't go back is a mindfuck completely on it's own. C'est la vie, as they say.

Gone Baby Gone

2011-02-15T13:02:00.004-06:00

You all know of my affinity for the mere possibility of voodoo and magic. If you can't seem to recall, just type 'witch' on my search engine, top left corner. I had a 'Waiting to Exhale' moment a little over a week ago. I gathered the photos of Cory from my albums, drove to my girl Stephanie's house, and lit that shit on fire. For each photo there was a story, and Steph was kind enough to hear them all, even jokingly likening the ritual to Angela Bassett lighting her husband's clothes and car on fire.

Stephanie: "We should break out the wine!"
Me: "Ohh, you have wine?"
Stephanie: "No."
Me: (in pimp-voice)"Then shut up, bitch."

The point of all this, was my feeling like I was haunted, so to speak. I'll break it down. There is a presence in your life for years, then it's gone, kapow. All that is left are photos, and that nagging feeling that you forgot to turn off your flat iron before you left the house. But how does one rid them self of such a sensation? When so much energy is going into denying the feelings of love and loss, you hardly have enough to continue on your day to day. Obviously, hydration is becoming a problem, what with all the random crying at work, in the bathroom at work, in the break room at work, in bed, on the sofa watching 'Tabitha's Salon Takeover'. Really, there's really nothing like crying into a Snuggie. Really. The question stands, how do you make it go away? Obviously voodoo came to mind. It was a ceremony, but it did not work like I'd hoped. That night we made our way, Stephanie, Amy and myself. We braved happy hour at On The Border, bought sex toys at the local toy store/head shop, and danced our drunk asses off at Halo. It was a fantastic evening, would have been a fantastic evening, had there not been a ghost sighting. As I'm waiting on the girls to close out their tabs at the bar upstairs, in walks Cory avec entourage. Instantly, I was transformed into a turtle. A fucking turtle that done lost his ability to retreat into his shell. If I could just remember how, I would be perfectly fine! I had to settle for turning around and hoping for the best. If I didn't have the biggest noggin in all of College Station/Bryan, that trick just might have worked. So there I am, trying unsuccessfully to make conversation with a poltergeist, all the while wishing I hadn't used what was left of my holy water to mix a drink with earlier that night.

Well, dark magics didn't work--this time. But after over a month, I was running out of ridiculous ideas. That is until my brother-in-law presented to me the most ridiculous idea of them all: fight. It was the one thing I hadn't tried. I'll get back to his insane idea in just a bit. I gotta let the suspense build up a bit first, don't you dare scroll ahead. In 5 weeks I had managed to go through the 5 stages of grieving a breakup. In true fashion, denial came first. Denial is to my family what, say, cancer is to other families--or athleticism, if you want to be a dick about it. I denied my unhappiness for years. I medicated the fuck out of it. And when you're so close to something for so long, you stop seeing it for what it is. This is true, because Julianne Moore said as much in 'The Kids Are All Right'. And some of the best advice I've ever been given has come from porcelain dolls, why should this be any different? Anycrazyassteaparty, what I had done was entrench myself in this parasitic relationship with another human being--except, in this situation we were both the parasite. And that's no way to live, I know this now, finally.

Anger came next, and boy did it ever come. I won't go into the specifics, only that I had to erase the evidence from my phone because the things I said that night, if ever said out loud, might have actually had the power to make women spontaneously go into labor, they were that powerful. But those words, though powerful, were not in the least empowering, quite the contrary in fact. This is why they simply had to go.

Bargaining was actually scattered all about. Of all the things I am happy to be rid of most, bargaining would have to be it. There is nothing dignified about asking someone to reconsider their decision to leave you. Nothing. Nor can promises, that considerable in size, be kept.

Depression, like bargaining, was all over the fucking place, like me. I didn't know how or what I would feel upon awakening. I've felt a loss of control before, but this was something different altogether. I set the tone for entire days before I'd even had the chance to get out of my bed.

This brings me to the fifth and final step: acceptance. This also brings me back to the truth bombs Jerry dropped all over Ralville:population 1. 'Go to him and tell him you still love him and want him back. The rest you can sort out, but you meant it when you said those vows for all to hear. Either way, you'll have your answer'. I did just this. It hurt like hell to walk out of that apartment rejected. But I can find comfort, I suppose, in knowing that it's over. I likened it to ripping off a band aid, as opposed to slowly peeling it off. I also compared it to amputating a gangrenous limb. Ask yourself, is that normal? I think not, but it is honest, and we could all stand to be a bit more honest with ourselves and each other. The truth should not have to wait, and I refuse to wait on truth any longer. In the words of Shangela Laquifa Wadley from seasons two and three of Rupaul's Drag Race, "Halleloo!"

Ha-lle-loo, y'all.

Fuckit List Part Deux Or Your Name Here

2011-02-13T19:27:00.004-06:00

I've been brainstorming ideas for the Fuckit List for a couple weeks now, and have actually managed to come up with a few. They are all pretty modest, because money don't grow on trees, y'all. I'll just go ahead and continue where I left off.

8. Dress in drag for the very first and likely last time. Not just that, put on a mothafuckin' show at, you guessed it, Halo. And I don't mean some lip-quivering love ballad either, I mean a knock down, drag out Beyonce rendition. "I'll get in there with some pressure, and when I'm done, you're not the same as before--you're changed"(thank you, Mallrats).

7. Learn how to play guitar, and well. As much free time as I have these days, why the fuck not, right? I just need something to keep my hands busy is all. I bought a 1,000 piece puzzle the other day for crying out loud. Rolling coins just isn't getting the job done anymore. I won't be content to just busy myself, something constructive needs to come of my efforts--besides just several phallic arrangements of coinage. So yeah, guitar=heartthrob, and I'll take heartthrob over throbbing heart any day.

6. Write the next great breakup album since one 'Jagged Little Pill'. I'm sure that there are those, might say such a thing is impossible. Well, to them I say, 'Yeah, probably'. But that's not gonna stop me from trying. In case you haven't noticed, I know my way around a sentence. I don't know shit about grammar, but not all that shit was ironic, either. So there.

5. That's all I got for now. Feel free to leave suggestions in the comment box.

Also, there's a funny story I'd like to share that will enlighten you all as to where I'm coming from with the Angela Bassett pic. You're one post away!

Look Ma, No Wolverine!

2011-02-11T10:22:00.002-06:00

Ain't That About a Bitch

2011-02-10T17:29:00.006-06:00

Man, when it rains it fucking pours! So check it, I'm staying at my mom's place, this much you know. Well, she is having issues with the master bath, and for the past few days has been using the guest shower until the matter is resolved. Wouldn't you know that during our stay in Kyle, TX, we returned to find the pipes had frozen? Not to mention what went down during our drive back. But here I am getting ahead of myself. I should start from the beginning.

I was fortunate enough to get two consecutive days off from work, and, needing to get the fuck away from the town the houses both me and my ex, we opted for a road trip to visit my sister, her husband, as well as their adorable daughter. It was a fool-proof plan. We would leave early(for us) morning Tuesday, and return Thursday just in time for me to get ready for my back-up bartending shift. The trip was just what the doctor ordered--if the doctor's name was Pepper. We ate Mexican food for nearly every meal, and we drank hella margaritas and Mexican martini's. We watched 'You Again', and 'Mama Mia', both of which I enjoyed equally(which is to say almost not at all, but I digress). We played Yahtzee!, Memory:Toy Story Edition, and even crayola'd in Madison's coloring books. We hula hooped, jumped on their trampoline, and watched music videos that made us cry(damn you, Katy Perry and your fireworks). On the morning before we were to leave, Leyna even sent me a text message to tell me that she had purchased tickets for us to see The Decemberists in April. What more could go right? We would soon find out that, in fact, nothing else would go right. Even the things that I would normally find awesome, suck when you put them into perspective. And not just my default, bitchy perspective, either.

During the drive back, one of the windows on my mother's van decided to just detach itself and explode in midair. February is the coldest month of the Texas year, therefore not the best time for your vehicle to dismantle itself. Upon returning home, I'd perfectly timed a relaxing two hour nap, which was unfortunately stalled after the discovery that ice had formed around water pipes that hung beneath the spare bath. And the suck just keeps on coming. I decide not to risk it, and haul ass to College Station to my other sister's house, to shower and ready myself for work. I manage to finish up and am out the door just in time to be five minutes late. I even called in to inform them that I would be a bit tardy, which is when they informed me that it was too slow for them to need a back up bartender, that I could have the night off. Fucking fuckers. This is the second week in a row that's happened, which means that I'm going to have to pick up an additional shift every week, just in case this becomes a recurring issue, bringing me to a total of 9 shifts. I'm tired by the prospect, and am off to take a nap now. Good day to you all.

Groovy

2011-01-30T22:44:00.000-06:00

Let the Sun Shine In

2011-01-25T13:31:00.004-06:00

My two choices were sadness and anger post-split, and I opted for the latter. I didn't make the decision consciously, and I'm not quite sure when it happened exactly either. I do know that the end result was saying horrible things to Cory under the influence of shitty liquor--whiskey to be exact. For the same reason that my mother once took a baseball bat to my cheating father's car, I unleashed a tirade against my ex that would have curled his hair had it not already been since birth. He took the high rode, which in my altered state I mistook for ambivalence. And just like that, my anger led me to 'the dark side'--full on Vader. I said things I didn't mean to say, and I said them with a conviction typically reserved for the more unhinged among us--like serial killers and stuff. I didn't understand why for weeks the anger kept building, I only knew that it was taking over, and it wouldn't end well. I sensed as much when, while watching a show about high-speed police pursuits, I found myself empathizing with the guy being chased.

I secretly wanted back into this room, this tiny space. It was the one place where I could surrender completely my accountability. Can you think of anything more fun than that? How does self-sabotage work, you ask? Well, you start by making yourself completely insufferable to the point where only your own mother can stand your company. That's it. Just do that on a loop for a few years, and bam! Hello again, single-self. No really, advice from me should not be heeded at least for a few days--just long enough that I'm sure this feeling of relief isn't of the fleeting variety.

The feeling of relief is what you might call a breakthrough, my friends. Excuse me while I pat myself on the back, but figuring all this out was a pretty tremendous thing for me. I went from cursing someone's name(there was talk of an effigy, and I'm not pulling your dick about that) to experiencing the closest thing to ease that I have in longer than I care to say. I would liken it to finally understanding a math equation--or the significance of math in general. I feel like my head is getting bigger as I type(to make room for my newfound enlightenment) and it's not just the gigantic stress-zit setting up shop on my five-head.

Seriously, this is like the goddamn dawning of the age of Aquarius, and short of running around in a field, I don't even know what that means!

Fuckit List

2011-01-25T07:59:00.003-06:00

Who says bucket lists are just for old folks? I'm a big fan of top ten lists these days, so I figure I'll compile my own Top Ten Things to do When You're Getting Over a Breakup. Please feel free to contribute, because if you're reading this, you're in my list of top ten viewers(because there are about 10 of you).

10. Read the Harry Potter books. This was actually suggested by my old friend, Lance. He claims that the elaborate storytelling will take you to a far away place, a place nowhere near dumpedandangryberg, or selfpityville. Sounds like a place, good as any, to be.

9. Karaoke! It's something I've always been afraid to do. And why?! It's singing in public, when I do everything else in public already anyway. I belted out a Backstreet Boys song last night, "I want it that Way" I believe, and I sang it better that half of those little bitches.

8. Fuck, I can't think of anything else at the moment. I'm literally gonna go roll some coins and try and think of some stuff to add to the list. Feel free to leave your ideas in the comment box.

SAAD

2011-01-20T11:55:00.005-06:00

The 22nd Annual GLAAD Media Awards have been announced, and it looks like all you have to do to be considered is represent the gay in all it's glory(or merely in part, depending on how comfortable you are with homosexual depravity). I simply cannot resist the urge to get bitchy about some of the selections, so here goes:

Oh, I changed my mind.

What Dream Homes May Come

2011-01-18T19:09:00.005-06:00

To counter my previous post about the drawbacks of living in the ghetto, I've compiled this list of the top 10 reasons why living here is awesome. They go as follows:

10. Speeding in residential areas is all but impossible; potholes have made it so. You need not fear that cops are lying in wait for the chance to break up their day by doling out petty moving violation citations. As amped as they tend to be in these parts to add a hefty heaping of suck to the already downtrodden, they'll just have to stick to sniffing out trailers for the scent of reefer and or meth.

9. 28=18 in the hood, if your looks haven't completely gone to shit by then. Seriously, I'm getting carded these days because I don't look like this town has chewed me up, swallowed, and shit me back out sadder for wear. If it means getting mistaken for a teenager on a regular basis, I'll take it!

8. If you wake up to the sound of screaming, go back to sleep, silly. It's coming from three double-wides down!

7. If you see a cooler in someone's front yard, it probably has beer in it, and you should grab that shit now while no one's looking.

6. Even though people tend to stare as you drive by(and, boy do they ever stare), take it as a compliment. They can tell by you singing Like a G6 that you're spirit hasn't totally been broken by this cruel existence. It also makes you better.

5. Yards are overrated. The more lawn you have, there more there is to rake.

4. Speaking of lawns, the used diaper tossed onto yours this afternoon had nothing to do with you as a person. Therefore, you shouldn't take it as a personal attack, just throw it away and try very hard to forget it ever happened.

3. If you find yourself getting overwhelmed, break out the piggy bank and roll up your coins--old school. If the sound of bobcats going off at midnight becomes too much, bust open those rolled up coins and start over again. No one has to know that they're re-rolled coins. It'll be our little secret.

2. Crack is, like, super-easy to get your hands on.

1. Short of getting diagnosed with something icky and incurable, you've only up to go.

Good to See You... Look Like Crap

2011-01-17T11:18:00.006-06:00

I am just so dang tired of seeing old acquaintances at my place of employment, only to have them avert their eyes whenever I happen by. Whatever happened to civility? Did Facebook make it downright uncool to acknowledge people anywhere other than online? You have no problem 'like'ing my status update, but when it comes to making eye contact in public, you're all 'slow down there, killer, I'm not quite ready for that level of commitment!' As if not looking as polished as you do in your profile pic is grounds to ignore an old classmate or former coworker when out and about. I'm sorry if your team of stylists wasn't on hand today, but that's no reason for you to go to a fine dining(ish) establishment in a hoodie and a pair of yoga pants(you've never done yoga, don't play) with the word 'juicy' etched across the ass. Juicy? Try 'flabby'. Why oh why has this become an acceptable practice? I have a few theories.

Theory #1: As stated above, you're not quite ready for the world abroad to know that you don't have naturally bronzed skin. That's like not being ready for people to know you're balding. The only people you've managed to fool are the blind, and well, yourself. There is no amount of combed over hair that will hide your stained hands. Because, let's face it, the only time it's okay to have brown smudges on your hands is when you live in the middle east(ahem). So while I know that part of being College Station-hot means looking like a limited edition 'Pageant Circuit Whore Barbie', give your bronzer the day off and join the rest of the pasty human race why don't ya?

Theory #2: After a memorable semester together, you sent me a friend request, only to find out that I'm a card-carrying gay since way back in the day. Not only do you have to wait the requisite amount of time before a discreet, late night un-friending, but you also have to train yourself in the way of the Stevie Wonder, which is to say that your head will go in every direction necessary to insure that our eyes never meet. This is a bold, if not tricky move, as I am just as eager for you to notice me as you are to not be noticed.

Theory #3: We went to high school together, and you're embarrassed to find me in such a sad state of being. Well, fuck you too. I'm only as sad as I want to be, thank you very much. And if ignoring someone or something was all it took to erase them or it from existence, don't you think I would have done the same to your bangs back in the 12th grade? Really now. In all honestly, it is sometimes a relief when people pretend to not see me. Firsty, it makes me feel like the ninja I fancy myself to be. Secondly, it saves me having to remember your name. Thirdly, damn you got old, girl. There's nothing like living in the South to make folks think that part of getting old is looking like they don't give a shit.

After all this talk of Facebook, I figured I'd go ahead and post the first image of Andrew Garfield as Spiderman. I won't say anything bad about the guy, cause he acted his dick off in 'The Social Network'. God knows I talked enough shit about the whole Spiderman franchise last year. I will say this one last thing though, I'd be more afraid of an actual spider than that little bitch.

My Life on the DList

2011-01-16T18:16:00.005-06:00

I've never watched The Golden Globes before, therefore I need to finish this post before 7pm as that is when it will be airing. I don't know what I'm going to write about, I'll simply begin and hopefully an idea will present itself to me.

Oh, I know, I'll talk about DList.com, a website I recently joined against my better judgment. First of all, there are about 200 members, and pretty much they are all already 'friends' with one another. Second of all, about half of the profiles are fake, meaning, something like a hundred middle-aged mutants stole shirtless pics from a cute person's Myspace profile and are passing them off as their own--to what end I won't even pretend to know. Okay, I'll guess that it has something to do with cybersex. Oh god, I used the term 'cybersex' and it's not even the 90's anymore! Faux Pas much!? While you're deducting cool points from me, I'll go on to the next lame of lame things about this, 'the gay social network'. You can't search for gays in your area unless you upgrade to the 'plus package'(no pun). 3 months for 25 bucks?! That's highway robbery! No highway robbery would be better, because at least you'd get rest stops to look forward to in a highway situation. After all, they don't call rest stops today's answer to the gay bathhouses of the 70's for nothing.

Let's break 25 dollars down, shall we? Considering my temporary new lot in life, what could I spend that kind of money on instead of the chance to possibly, maybe, meet new friends online? I could buy a 1.75L bottle of Bacardi and a couple of mixers, then devote an entire day to Facebook stalking friends of friends whilst taking turns drinking, crying, and jerking off--in that order, using my own tears as lube even. Or, I could walk to the corner store on Palasota and purchase a prostitute with visible cold sores(down there). Or, I could get a couple months of premium membership to Gay. com where, let's face it, the real whores are at.

I'll let you, the readers decide. Or if you have a better idea for my 25 dollars, please chime in, as I am all out of them at the moment.

My United States of Whatever

2011-01-12T11:48:00.003-06:00

I'm at a loss for what to write about. Pretty much the only thing I have going on right now is my split with he who shall not be named(Cory). Whether it be returning my copy of the apartment key, or canceling our wireless family plan, or going to retrieve the coffee maker he bought me for my 26th birthday to find that he had given it away, pretty much I'm just working, working out, and watching 'United States of Tara' reruns in preparation for the third season debut.

Oh yeah, the reason I wanted my coffee maker back is because I am drinking it again--with a vengeance. I'm back on my pot-a-day habit, and I think I had a little heart attack on the treadmill yesterday. And if being with Cory taught me anything, it's that doctors aren't worth a shit when you really need them. They'll cut you up and put you back together fine, but ask them to diagnose a problem and you're likely to get the same answer were you to just Google your symptoms online. In Cory's situation, Google tended to be more reliable, and far more affordable.

I miss my dogs. I don't miss the smell of the apartment, which after a few nights spent elsewhere, I was shocked to find reeked of diaper shit. I suppose Cory would like for me to take Zoe and disappear for a long while, but fuck if I'm going to take her away from her brothers. Besides, as I made it clear to him, you can dump me, but you can't dump your dog. I will continue to pay for half of the dogs' expenses, as well as occasionally steal them away for extended periods of time. But I am not giving any of them up for his convenience. You can't call them your children for years, and as soon as the relationship is over, say 'yeah, go ahead and take the ugly, fat one that I've always not-so-secretly hated, and go the fuck away'. No sir, you can't say that. Which is what it all boils down to right? Let's remove any unfavorable aspects of my life, Raul and rolls-in-dog-shit-Zoe, and start anew.

Back to U.S. of Tara. I guess I could go ahead a shoot off a wishlist for the new season. Here we go:

Tara, I'm starting to like your alters more than you, bitch. I was thrilled when T almost never made an appearance this season, only to be replaced by Shoshana. I have never in my long life met anyone as insufferable at Toni Collette's interpretation of T. Buck was enjoyable as always, without even having to resort to beating up guy-liner wearing teenage boys. Alice didn't turn up as much which is just as well, I suppose. By the end of season two I wasn't really rooting for any of them, which kind of defeats the purpose of a narrative.

Max, get out while you still can. Pack your things, swing by the bar and pick up Pammy and her kids on your way of of dodge. She may be crazy herself, but at least she isn't 5 shades of crazy--just the one.

Charmaine, Neil was right when he said that you have no soul. I would like to add to that: no redeeming qualities whatsoever. Let's go ahead and write this one off the show.

Kate, spontaneously combust and spare us another season of your grating voice and lack of character. You were unwatchable in Scott Pilgrim vs. the World, and you're not doing us any favors here either.

Marshall, pick a side and stay on it. You're gayer than Cory in heels, and you should just own it by now. Just stick with Lionel, he'll show you the way.

We Are Fambaglee!

2011-01-07T21:08:00.000-06:00

A Return to the Scene of a Bad Time

2011-01-07T14:21:00.010-06:00

Cory ended things with me about a week ago. How do I feel about that, you ask? Well, I feel like shit, to be honest. I find myself relating to the love songs I've always hated. I wanna say I'm listening to Jagged Little Pill like it's going out of style, except that it kind of already went out of style; when I was in my teens, a.k.a. 100 fucking years ago. And you guessed it, I'm living with my mother...for the time being. It's been nearly ten years and I'm living in the same walk in closet-sized bedroom once again. The room where I spent some of my worst days--you remember. I want so badly to put a funny slant on things for you, but fuck if it's difficult. I'm gonna try anyway.

I now present to you, the Top Ten Things I Didn't Miss About The Ghetto, starting of course from my most favorite of not missed things:

10. Blasting rap music, specifically of the D.J. Screw variety, never goes out of style. Apparently, there's just something about listening to a song slowed down to the point where it sounds like the devil himself is serenading to you as you drive. Notice how I didn't capitalize the word 'devil'? It's because I don't play favorites, and neither should you.

9. If you straighten your hair in the bathroom with the window open, you will hear threats of violence from your next door neighbor. Not directed at you, of course, but at
"that bitch [that] keeps starting shit". I know most people would clear their throat to announce their presence, or shut the window even, but I'm a sucker for both a cool breeze and bitchy conversation.

8. People won't accept the gently used stuffed animals you leave plastic -bagged on your front lawn, but they will break into your house during the holidays and steal new ones from under your Christmas tree. Because one man's trash is apparently another man's trash. And the same can be said about presents.

7. If hoodlums vandalize a neighborhood fence, eventually someone will knock it down and erect an even crappier one. I said 'hoodlums'. I'm officially old. I also said 'erect'.

6. 'Stop' signs are merely a suggestion, and stealing them is totally acceptable.

5. It's scary when the friendly old man who mows the lawn shows up at the front door at 11pm to wish you a happy new year.

4. My mother is the only person on the block with internet. Seriously. You bet your ass she has it password protected.

3. Being poor isn't an excuse to not have kids. So go now, you're wasting time reading this when you could be in the back of a pickup dumbing down the species.

2. It's cool to stop in the middle of the road to chat with a friend driving in the opposite direction. The people waiting behind you can wait.

1. I was gonna bitch some more, but you can't beat rent-free housing. It's an opportunity to save up and finally move to the city that has been calling your name for nearly a decade now. As some of you may recall, Cory was never part of the plan. I won't discount the last five and a half years of my life, the things I have experienced, and the places I've been, but it's time to be alone. I'm not gonna let this room do to me what it has in the past. Because if there's one thing that hasn't changed after all these years, through all the bullshit and failed relationships and antidepressants and tragedies: it's that I've got a fucking army behind me. And something you can't feel when you have an army, is sorry for yourself.

And I'm not bragging about having love in my life, just truth-telling.

I'm For Spare Parts, Broken Up

2010-12-24T15:55:00.004-06:00

I don't typically give a dick about the hype that surrounds those films nominated by the academy or who or what have you. Really, going into a theater with zero expectations is the best route for me. It ensures that you aren't too terribly let down by, say, the newest 'Scary Movie' installment. I've wanted to see 'Black Swan' since I first watched the trailer some months ago. Natalie Portman I have been a fan of since 'Closer', Darren Aronofsky via Sarah Goldfarb, melted my icy heart in 'Requiem for a Dream', and Mila Kunis is just likable. The movie wasn't entirely made of win though, as Barbara Hershey looked like she used an entire roll of scotch tape on her face during the production of this highly praised film. I'm not hating on old women, just those that don't let gravity do it's work. If the face wants to droop, let the face droop, girl.

All kidding aside, this was a seriously serious movie, kids. Natalie Portman acted her pants off! She acted hers and Mila's pants off! I don't know anything about ballet, I certainly didn't know how scary feet can get when subjected to what basically amounts to as torture on a regular basis. It called to mind those photos of foot binding I'd seen in the past.

I'm gonna go ahead and do something I rarely do here on Closer to the Sun: give my opinion on something.

First of all, for some reason I remember Winona Ryder being a good actress. Am I alone here, or did she deliver each of her lines like a bitchy teenager? She couldn't have stepped into traffic any faster as far as I'm concerned.

Second of all... Well, fuck. I was about to go off on this movie but I'm having a very difficult time thinking of anything to write about, it was that good.

Maybe my inability to be bitchy has something to do with how preoccupied I am with my own thoughts at the moment. Do you ever have a nagging feeling? It's akin to the one, makes you feel as though you left the oven on when you know that isn't even a possibility. It's guilt, and it is ruining my Christmas Eve. I have tons of stuff I know I should probably feel guilty about, but this is an altogether different matter. The guilt is coming from some far away place that doesn't actually exist; oh but it is persistent. The rational adult in me knows that there has to be a switch, and to find it would mean being able to turn the feeling off. But wherever could it be?

There is nothing rational about the feeling, so how could thinking rationally ever lead to a solution?

Eat Me

2010-12-13T16:49:00.003-06:00

If you know me, you know I love me some zombies. I love them when they're slow. I love them when they're fast. Hell, I even love them when they're giving birth to little, baby zombies(sooo cute). AMC really struck gold when they decided to adapt the uber-successful comic book title for television. I loved every one of the six(six!?) episodes, and I can't freakin' wait for season two(13 episodes!). Television Without Pity, a website I have frequented since back when it still went by the name Mighty Big TV, was nice enough to compile a list of this season's best and worst moments, or rather, what they felt were the best and worst moments. Typically, I tend to agree with the bitches over there, pretty much the same goes for another site I visit often, Pajiba. They lost me on this one though, and here's why.

Best: Tanks A Lot
Okay, I know the cast can't be comprised solely of farm animals, but the decision to turn the nice horse into a buffet was just so wrong! I get it, it served as a diversion to get the lead, Rick Grimes, out of a hairy situation, but horses are just such beautiful creatures that should not be eaten alive. He was doing perfectly fine on that pasture until Deputy Dick Hole decided to ride him to his eventual death.

Worst: I'm On A Boat
I knew Amy was a goner when I watched the scene of her and big sister Andrea on a fishing trip. And sure enough, she was a happy meal by episode's end. The scene of them talking about their considerable age difference was just the first part of a one, two punch--two being Amy's zombie resurrection, which I thought they handled beautifully(more on that later).

Best: They've Got Guts
I thought this scene was fuckin' rad and so did TWOP,(and anyone else with a pulse for that matter). Impersonating zombies has been done before(Shaun of the Dead), but never with the clever use of props. Gross, by the way.

Worst: Punch Drunk
I agree, but for different reasons, about the beat down. You really just should not hit someone in the face that many times. Especially since the misplaced anger he was feeling was because Lori took away his vagina privileges after finding out that her husband was alive. And to use the excuse that he was only trying to keep her alive? Give me a fucking break. Her cooch was never in more danger of being eaten than when you were around.

Best: The Hand That Feeds You
When the rescue mission ends with the discovery of a sawed off hand and no Merle attached to it? Damn. That's really all I can say about that scene. Damn.

Worst: A Romp In The Woods
Shane and Lori having sex in the woods? There are so many things wrong here. First of all, when your husband finds out, you're in deep shit, girl. Second of all, if seeing your supposedly dead best friend's wedding band around your fuck buddy's neck doesn't kill your boner, bravo pal, you have no soul. Third of all, Lori informing her returned husband before reunion sex, that their screw sounds wouldn't wake their sleeping son not four feet away? I think if I were Rick, I would want to know why she was so sure of that?

Best: Boom Goes The Dynamite
When Rick took the hand grenade from soldier-zombie, I just knew they were gonna forget about it. I'm glad I was wrong, because the scene of him blowing out the windows to break free of the CDC was awesome. And cheers to the AMC special effects department for making it look like a legit explosion.

Worst: The Mermaid Tale
I cried like a bitch! Seriously, it was tragic watching Andrea put Amy down like goddamned Old Yeller. Andrea sat by her side all day waiting for her sister to rise. And when she did, damn did I cry. Maybe it's something that only people with big age differences from their brothers and sisters can understand. If you're the younger sibling, you often feel left behind. If you're older, you feel like a disappointment for wanting to live your own life. Either way, sad.

Best: Brain Damage
Carol axing her husbands remains to finish the job the zombies started: epic. Who the hell knows what goes on in the mind of a battered woman? I couldn't say, and maybe neither could she. That's when an ax comes in handy.

Worst:To CDC Or Not To CDC
To be honest, I was working on a good buzz by this point in the episode, and nothing really stood out to me. Shane pointed his gun at, again, his supposed best friend. You're supposed to want to take a bullet for your friends, not put one in them.

Worst: Only The Pretty People
I liked this scene. Jacqui was a strong character, and I don't think any amount of reasoning would convince her to go back out into the apocalypse. I'll say again, instant death=heaven, zombie apocalypse=getting eaten to death! Andrea just had a case of the sads, and Dale was right to go back for her. I don't think I could leave someone behind, but barring a zombie invasion, we will never know for sure.

And now, for my own contribution to the list:

Best: View To A Zombie Kill
Morgan Jones hunts his wife from their bedroom window. Everything about this scene is perfect and tragic. From the picture of Morgan's wife hanging in the window, to Duane's knowing full well what was going on even from downstairs, to the corresponding scene of Rick tracking down bicycle girl to put her out of her misery. The fact that he couldn't bring himself to take the shot was just the icing on the cake, if you want to compare cake ingredients to slaying your corpse bride.

I'm Too Sexy for These Pills

2010-12-13T16:07:00.003-06:00

I feel like I'd rather blog than nap right now, but where to start? I have finals tomorrow, so really I should be studying, but it can wait I suppose. What's new with me, you ask? Well, I'm off of Lexapro...again. I'm gonna be frank, I missed my orgasms and it was time, after nearly a year, for us to reunite once again. Why is it that the one thing that the drug effects negatively, is the thing I care about most? How come it couldn't be something I wouldn't miss, like peripheral vision? I never use it anyway, what with my wearing glasses. Really, I am dreading the day that I finally get taken out by one of the ridiculously over-sized pickup trucks these college students drive around here.

I started taking Lexi because of a problem with anxiety, this you all know. What I didn't realize was how crazy irrational I was off of it. I jump to conclusions about a lot of dumb shit. I take things far too personally. I feel singled out most of the time, targeted. Someone once told me that shy people were just self-absorbed. That that much time spent only on self-reflection was akin to staying home and masturbating all day(which I am known to do--my Native-American name is "Cumsinhand" for crying out loud). I never made the connection though, that spending all of my time, free or not, obsessing about the way in which someone delivered news to me, how my actions might be interpreted, people's opinions of me etc., is really just a huge fucking waste of time and life. Fuck what anyone thinks about me. I feel like a lot of people say that, but don't really mean it. For instance, this guy I work with told me this awful story about how a few nights prior, he got a blow job from a girl and then kicked her out of his house. Am I to be impressed upon hearing about his depravity? I told him immediately after he finished his tall-tale, that my opinion of him had drastically changed, to which he replied "Well, I don't really care what anyone thinks about me." In less than five minutes, he had tracked me down to find out if I had meant what I said, and why? I told him that I simply like women too much to find such a story amusing, and what happened to him not caring about what I thought?

The point being, I got what there was to get from my Lexapro experience, and I feel like that is that. Knowing that I am capable of flying off the handle over inconsequential shit makes it all the easier to stop myself from doing exactly that. I can tell myself that I am blowing things out of proportion or taking things out of context. That really is the difference between me and an insane person. That and I don't poop my pants on a regular basis.

Another thing about Lexapro: it made me boring as shit. I feel like my personality is finding it's way back to me, like a puppy that you leave to die in the country who shows up at your doorstep months later. Hopefully, the puppy that is my personality won't return with rabies looking to exact it's revenge. I would never condone such behavior, you should know. I go off on people that don't pick up their dogs' shit, so imagine how I would respond to someone leaving a puppy to die! No really, I want you to imagine me kicking the crap out of someone for animal cruelty. In your fantasy, I want to be wearing brass knuckles.

And just in case you were wondering, the picture above was taken on a trip to Pedernales Falls State Park in Dripping Springs, Texas. After a few too many, I thought it was be perfectly acceptable to make a seat of a Styrofoam cooler. The thing about Styrofoam, it doesn't so much support the weight of a grown man so much as buckle under it. Just something for you to keep in mind on your next camping trip. The more you learn!

Yay!

2010-11-18T15:18:00.000-06:00

Watch Gay Video & Lesbian Movies

Ral Version 200.0

2010-10-25T22:06:00.003-05:00

When we are comfortable with our bodies, we are as at ease as we will ever be.This was how I planned to start a post a month or so ago, but I gave up on feeling good about myself, because there was just to much going on in my life(2 jobs, school, etc.) to care about something so trivial as my health. How is it our priorities go out the window when we are met with stress? And by priorities, of course I mean those pertaining to our appearance. I haven't worked out in over a week, and it was a week before then and a week before then that I did anything remotely fitness-related. When I was 21, I worked out 5 days a week for about 2 hours a day. I've talked about this before, so I won't bore you with the details of how hot and in demand I was. I will, however, make a pledge to you now, loyal readers, that I am at my wit's end and I will be hot again soon.

I spoke in a recent post about how the world receives you differently depending on your outward appearance. I don't want to have to win people over anymore with my sense of humor and agreeableness. I want people to think 'Ta-dow!' when they see me. And if that means losing 16 pounds to illicit that response from strangers then so be it. And if it means selling my soul to satan then that's just what's gonna have to happen. If it means killing anyone that gets in my way, okay, I think I've made my point.

You may be wondering what a picture of Madonna has to do with anything. You see, that's me on the left, but soon I'll be the one on the right, except male and 20+ years younger. Anyway, I had a really hard time finding a picture of me working it out at 21, probably because I was too busy running around trying to win people's(guys') approval.

Seriously though, my body wants to be at about 185, 190. It is I who am putting up a hell of a fight to stay in the 215-220 range. It's time to stop thinking like a fat bitch, and start thinking like a skinny bitch. Who's with me!?

So Much More Than A Pretty Mouth

2010-10-19T00:37:00.003-05:00

What is it with these Lost in Translation-type movies that seek to convince us that seriously grown men can have perfectly healthy, non-sexual relationships with very attractive teenage girls? Lester Burnham pretty much summed up perfectly what it is like to be a middle-aged man, frustrated so with the sag of his previously viscous flesh, all the while lusting after a nubile, young thing. You are a perv, case closed. There really is no need to beautify it with childhood trauma, or marital drama, probably easily resolved with the aid of a surrogate.

It's like this game of cat and mouse, except instead of cat we get over the hill basket case, and instead of mouse, we have pretty girl all too willing to turn a blind eye to the raging hard on of a creep in the guise of 'potential father figure'. When someone shows interest in you, it is first and foremost because of your looks. No one wants to make friends with someone who might make finishing their meal an obstacle in a casual dining situation.

I can apply this theory to my own life. You see, I'm sort of still the new guy at my new restaurant, in that, no one else has been hired since I started. How much interest in me do you suppose their was in my first few weeks of working? I won't sugarcoat it for you, it was at close to zero. I know why, I am not exactly what you would call a sight for sore eyes. I get that. Had I been Zack fucking Morris, I'm sure I would have had a slew of new Facebook friends by the end of my first shift. As it was, I had managed to get 2 people to acknowledge my presence long enough to shake my hand. Fuck a bunch of these guys.

This leads me to my new project that officially begins tomorrow. It's called

Too Pissed To Pun II

2010-10-18T22:22:00.005-05:00

What the fuck is up with the Disney-fication of the most subversive, homo-themed musicals in the history of man(before Hedwig came alone, of course)! Mercedes will portray Frank N. Furter in the Glee episode dedicated to the 35 year old musical? The Fuck!? Personally, I can't wait to watch a young woman sing about being a sweet transvestite from transsexual Transylvania. Not! The role should have been Kurt's. Not that I like the character. At. All. But the musical had a lot to do with ogling this man made out of nothing purely for the enjoyment of our corseted anti-hero. The film was rife with overt, unabashed sexuality. And don't get me wrong, between Santana and Brittany's off-screen scissoring sessions, and, well, that's pretty much all the gays have gotten thus far: the mere mention of past tense sex. Go, team gay!

Okay, I get it. Mainstream America isn't ready to know that gay people engage in the same(almost) bedroom behavior as our straight counterparts, so be it. Maybe somewhere out there someone is still pissed about the handling of some of the most well known fairy tales. I think the injustice is equivocal if not worse, cutting off the penis of one of the most beloved characters in the history of cinema.

I'm dramatic, and I speak in absolutes on purpose.

Today's Rant: The Shut the Fuck Up, Vince Vaughn Edition

2010-10-15T17:44:00.009-05:00

Cory and I saw 'Easy A' a couple of weeks ago, and of course we were just in time for movie trailers. We were more than just a little shocked when a trailer for some new Vince Vaughn piece of shit movie began to play, and the increasingly bloated star uses the term 'gay' in a derogatory fashion. Are you fucking kidding me with this shit?! It is 2010, an d I am spending my hard earned cash on the promise of an afternoon of laughs, not to be put down in public by some Lurch-looking motherfucker about a decade and a half past his prime. I think it's wonderful that you have more money than God, really I do. But please leave the hate speech to the kiddies, and get back to looking for your hairline like a leprechaun does his gold.

I was elated to hear that resident silver fox, Anderson Cooper, had publicly voiced his displeasure in being treated to the same one sexy New York afternoon. I really don't get why Cooper feels the need to stand up for the gays, but kudos to him either way. It's awesome that we have an ally in someone so masculine and high profile. Ahem.

Vaughn seems to think that jokes bring different types of people together, and is apparently fighting to keep the quote in the movie. Because, if you want to be an advocate for something, it should definitely be for the right to insult a minority for profit. And that's really what this is all about after all, giving verbal high fives to the people in the audience still clueless as to what the phrase 'that's so gay' really means. You are equating being gay with being stupid, end of discussion. And the fact that an entire campaign had to be launched to combat your ignorance should be grounds for you to reexamine your use of the word.

Having a lot of homework is not gay. Unlike being gay, going to college is a choice, a good one, but a choice nonetheless. Having to work late is not gay, it is responsible. Getting a speeding ticket is not gay, slow the fuck down. I am just sick of people using this expression around me, and then feigning ignorance when I'm offended. "Does that bother you when people say that?" What the fuck do you think?

People seem to be unclear as to the definition of gay, a phrase that we did not give ourselves, mind you. 'Gay' is two men getting it on. It is hard D in a B(sometimes 2 D's, depending on the B, also the website you've stumbled upon purely by chance of course). It is a guy's D in or around another guy's M. It's a hot L shot all over another guy's furry C and or F. Before you attempt to decipher my code, there really is more to gay. Gay, is two women having sex as well. And since 6 seasons of The L Word have done nothing to clarify for me what lesbian sex is, I'll let basic cable do the job, since mainstream media has more than embraced girl on girl by now. So now that I've explained what gay entails, and the many things that it is not, let us examine the word 'gay'.

Historically, the word gay meant to be happy, or excited, even brilliant in color. Perhaps, because we gays are so prone to flitting around with rainbows and the like, we brought the word on ourselves--so be it. The word now means, happy, excited, colorful, homosex, and stupid. Which of these is not like the other, I ask? And which connotation do you think I am more than ready to be rid of?

In other news, how about the Penn Badgley? Guy looks like his dream car is a big van with blacked out windows, but like, in a good way. Know what I mean? I know some of you may have pegged me for more of a Cam Gigandet kind of guy, but dude looks like he takes his protein shakes with a side of meth, no judgment! Besides, Penn looks like walking sex, the kind that's not afraid to go A to M in and then back to A again. I'm not gonna lie, as good as Emma Stone was in 'Easy A'(and she was!), some of the best parts came courtesy of Badgley and his nipples. Really, they should have gotten separate billing, or even a movie montage. Please, tell me someone in Hollywood is reading this!

Worst People Ever

2010-10-15T16:39:00.004-05:00

I was going through old documents just now, and came across this gem of a life experience. It is my record of an incident that took place during my time spent waiting tables in Las Vegas. Proceed at your own risk, as this may result in annoyance with the human race:

Monday December 8, 2008

At approximately 6:30p.m., I greeted a booth which sat 5 people. The table was comprised of 3 females and 2 males. The very first order of business was getting a drink order and one of the men attempted to purchase alcohol without proper I.D., without any I.D. actually. After refusing the sale he settled on a glass of water. The brunette female ordered sweet tea and demanded I go in the back and make it myself because "We're from the south, we need sweet tea". She settled for a Sprite. After getting their drinks I attempted to take their full order which proved difficult. The gentleman who attempted to purchase alcohol wanted to share an order of combo fajitas with his girlfriend and I asked him if he would like one order of combo fajitas, or two orders of combo fajitas. He asked "Well, which one is cheaper?" to which I replied "The combo fajitas for one" all the while pointing at the price on the menu. After taking about a minute's time to put their order in the computer(there were a lot of modifications) I walked past the table and heard "Excuse me! Are you going to bring us more chips or what?" I replied "Yes ma'am, I was just putting your order in the system, I'll go get your some chips and be right back."

From then on things were fine. They got refills on drinks on chips and talked until Jose the 'food-runner' brought out their food. I met him at the table while he was passing it out. The couple that were sharing fajitas asked me "What is this? We ordered fajitas for 2! I immediately apologized and suggested that I may have misunderstood. Hoping to understand what they wanted I asked if they wanted another order of the same fajitas I could get that "right away no problem". The girlfriend looked at me and said "Well there are 2 of us so what do you think?" The boyfriend then asked to see a manager after I agreed to bring them more fajitas. I rushed to a computer and put in the order for another combo fajita, entered the kitchen where Orlando the manager was doing Expo, and told him what I needed immediately. The process of ordering the food, informing the cook and bringing the food to the table couldn't have been more than 3 minutes all the while the table enjoyed their food including the couple who were sharing the order they had already received. They said "good" when I asked them all how their food was and once again I apologized for the confusion but neither of the couple would look me in the eye after that.

I asked Orlando what they complained about and he told me that they had a problem with my inability to keep their water glasses full and I headed over immediately with a water pitcher to find that Orlando had refilled their 2 waters for me.

At the end of the meal after handing out a 'to go' box to one of the females, they requested separate checks. It took less than a minute and I returned promptly with their checks and informed them that "I'll be your cashier as well, take your time." and as I was walking off the girlfriend blurted out "What the fuck is this? I'm not paying for this!" Worried that she might upset one of the surrounding tables including the booth right next to them where a mother, father and 3 boys were sitting I rushed over to find out if I had charged them for too many sodas or something and not noticed. "Is there a problem with your check?" I asked. "Yeah, we're not paying for two fajitas!"he replied. I asked "But wasn't I wrong when I ordered just one fajita for you to share? "Yeah but you fucked up,' he said 'we're not paying for that! You are the worst waiter I have ever had! Give me a menu, I want to talk to your manager again!" I didn't really understand the outrage and I could see from the corner of my eye that his yelling was upsetting the other tables. I apologized again and reached for a menu and handed it to him. I said as I pointed out on the menu the fajitas that he ordered and his girlfriend said "This is bullshit. This was terrible service, go get your manager because we're not paying for food that you got wrong!" I said "Sure thing, I'll go get him."

I informed Orlando that the table wished to speak to him again and started collecting payment from my tables including members of the complaining party's table that wanted to pay out and leave immediately. As I was doing so, I heard shouting and looked over to notice the entire table taking turns yelling at Orlando. The neighboring party sent his wife with his kids to the car presumably so they didn't have to hear the cursing while he paid their tab. I went around to all of my tables (95, 83, 72 and 73) and apologized for the noise as well as for the possibility of my service being hindered by the ongoing problems with the angry table. I continued to take payments and the couple continued to yell at Orlando. I returned with 3 of the guests' split checks and heard them threaten to leave without paying for anything. Orlando informed them that eating food and refusing to pay for it was basically stealing and he would have to call the cops, they need to pay for their food. I don't know what was said before this only that as Orlando began walking away from the table, the girlfriend shouted "I'm not paying for shit, motherfucker!" She then handed me a credit card and said "here!" I said "I'll be right back with that." When I returned with the credit card the boyfriend began writing fervently on the 'merchant slip'. I was informed minutes later that as they walked out the door, the boyfriend shouted at the hostess, Chelsie, that I gave them terrible service.

Never once did I make a sarcastic or even remotely rude remark to this table. I never raised my voice and only asked questions in earnest as to remedy the problems that arose during their visit. I apologized adequately and resolved any matters without blaming the guest for having ordered the wrong meal. From what I could discern of Orlando's interaction with the angry table, he remained calm as I, and approached them as a problem solver. They tipped $0.00 on a hundred dollar tab. That was the funnest part.

How do I feel looking back on all this you ask? Well, honestly I feel like an idiot for ever letting people talk to me in this manner, regardless if it was the right thing to do at the time. I got to keep my job, and the managers were convinced of my professionalism from that point on, if there was any question remaining. But to have some kid no older than 20, tell me that Mine was the worst service he'd had in his life, well, that would have been sad if it wasn't so fucking funny! Spend some more time on the planet before you attempt to make such a claim. Or better yet, don't. Leave Earth first chance you get, and spare yourself the inevitability of talking this kind of shit to a server who's already had himself a bad day. I promise you won't get off so light again.

And for those of you who managed to get through this entire post without punching a hole in your monitor, a reward for your patience: Don't say I never gave you nothing.

Lady Boy

2010-10-11T23:58:00.004-05:00

The internet is all a twatter about this Chord Overstreet fellow, and who can blame it/them/they? Those (lady)lips, attached to that face, on top of that body? His voice is auto-tuned to shit, but then so are those of the rest of the cast, so who really cares?

I do.

It sounds like a bunch of fucking robots have taken over this show in, like, no time. I started watching Glee for the same reason that I watch musicals: because talented people are fun to behold, in my opinion. However, these are not talented people. Can they recite lines of dialogue on command? Yes. Can they moisturize and stay in tip top shape as 30 year olds portraying 16 year olds ought to? Sure. But can they sing to save their lives without the aid of revolutionary technology? Fuck no!

I don't mean to preach, mostly because I loathe preachers, but where the fuck did the stigma concerning lip-syncing go? Because that's all that these little shits are; a bunch of blessedly-complected sluts, lip-syncing to their own voices, stretched and contorted to the point of nonrecognition. Aren't we just supposed to be proud of what we ourselves accomplish?

For instance, when someone tells me that my sisters are pretty, am I to take pride in something that has absolutely nothing to do with me and say 'thank you!', or do I say, simply, 'that is nice of you to say'?

Shame! Shame and damnation, and I will it befall all who hope to gain favor through means unachieved; having nothing to do with their own hard work.

How about that Overstreet kid? If he sucks his gut in any further, he's likely to break a rib or crap himself. God love him.

A Review...ish

2010-09-22T20:40:00.005-05:00

In Between classes tomorrow I'll be posting a review of the latest Resident Evil installment. Stay tuned, it's gonna get real bitchy up in here.

I couldn't wait.

I have to suspend a shit ton of disbelief when I watch a RE movie. Obviously, the zombies are up there on the list of crazy impossible shit. Apocalypse and all that it entails, all those entrails, and everybody knows karate! I refuse, however, to accept that two post-apocalyptic women(Milla Jovovich, Ali Larter) managed to horde enough base and eyeliner to make them both look like some clown suitable for a five year old's birthday party. Milla was seriously giving some of those zombie extras a run for their money in the unnecessary amount of makeup department. All kidding aside, these chicks kicked all kinds of ass. Running up walls, jumping off of buildings, they did their stunt doubles and wire harnesses proud.

On to a more serious topic, how much did Wentworth Miller let himself go!? There was almost not enough shirt and jacket to contain that tubby bitch. And while I know his homosexuality is merely rumored, what supposed gay would let things get this bad? You are paid to recite lines of dialogue for a living, you don't get to relax so much as is required to get hefty. Put down whatever it is that you are eating(peen), and get to the gym post haste.

In sexier news, Boris Kodjoe is my new crush. He was featured in RE:Afterlife, and he's starring in a new ABC drama about a couple of sexy spies that happen to also be a couple. I want to talk about sexual chocolate and what not, but I fear my black humor is limited to Coming to America references, so I'll just skip it.

Zack Morris made me gay, and as such, I have typically only been attracted to aw shucks, tall, fair complected guys. I have recently been coloring outside of the lines, though. I haven't abandoned my Ryan Reynolds love, don't get me wrong, but I have come to appreciate beauties of many different shades. Case in point: Harry Shum Jr. I've got the yellow fever, this man is seriously good looking. Add to that, the fact that he has washboard abs, can sing, and dance!? Be still my dick.

Deep in the Lake Titicaca Valley

2010-09-07T12:53:00.003-05:00

After a few episodes, I'm kind of over Rupaul's Drag U. I miss the all around bitchiness of Rupaul's Drag Race; the backstage fighting. I like the queens when they are at their worst, not so much when they are playing fairy godmother to a bunch of frumpy bitches, which is what Drag U basically boils down to. I remember a similar endeavor meant to endear the LGBTQIA community to the public(seems like every year we add a new letter). It was called Queer eye for the Straight Guy, and it turned gay men into the court jesters of our time.

Really, I shouldn't give sole credit to one TV show, Will & Grace deserves an honorable mention. That show presented homosexual men as dickless, flamboyant, caricatures of gay men set before a laugh track(because how would we know what we just heard was a joke without a laugh track?). I exchanged words with an old roommate when she expressed that her religious upbringing would not allow her to support gay marriage. Read the next post to hear my response to her stance.

I understand that in order for society to embrace a minority group, they must first be made to feel at ease with them. As homosexuals, we can in no way pose a threat to the sensibilities of our straight, baby-making counterparts. Secondly, we have to be funny, because no one likes a homo that doesn't know how to tickle their funny bone(no pun). And lastly, we must be perceived to be as anatomically correct as a Ken Doll, meaning, our penises must exist as a means to relieve our bladders only, and for absolutely nothing else.

But I think the gays have paid their dues, literally. I pay my taxes, and I shouldn't have to give you a makeover for you to accept my right to be treated like an equal under the law. It makes it difficult to watch women being made over, walking down the runway with a newfound sense of self, when they owe it all to someone they would probably call a 'faggot' were they to walk past them on the street. You could say I'm over thinking it, but I could then say that you are under thinking. But enough with the soapbox.

Clever Title

2010-09-07T12:42:00.000-05:00

Bieber Reducer

2010-09-07T11:35:00.004-05:00

I miss the days when I neither knew who Justin Bieber was, nor know how to pronounce his name(bee-bur, not bi-bur). I simply do not understand the appeal. He's 16 years old, and he has grown women wearing shirts with the words 'Bieber Fever' scrolled across. He is the new Twilight, in that I want to punch anyone as soon as the words 'Justin' or 'Bieber' escape their slacked jaws. I'm not a hater, I have to give the kid his props. His balls have yet to drop, and he's already a millionaire--only in America. People make cracks about him looking like a lesbian, and it's true, he does. But I love lesbians, so that doesn't really come across as an insult to me, even if that is the intention.

My problem is not with his age, appearance, or even the fact that he is Canadian; it's his voice. He doesn't have the voice of a skinny little white boy, in the same way that Christina Aguilera doesn't have the voice of a shoulder-less little white girl. So, if Justin Bieber were black, would we care as much? I'm thinking no. When people see a teen aged person of color with a baseball cap and sagging britches, they clutch their purses, check for their wallets. This I know to be true. I can't count(mostly because I hate counting)the number of times an old lady at the grocery store gave me the side eye as she reached for her billfold. As a teenager, I was trailed by department store security guards, followed around by duty-bound convenience store clerks. I wonder, are squeaky voiced Caucasian boys received in the same way, when they are at their most impressionable?

So, even though I don't hate on the guy, I do hate the political incorrectness of it all. If I had any talent whatsoever, would it simply be overshadowed by the brownness of me? I may never know, because as I realized yesterday, I'm not really great at anything. I'm good at lot of things, don't get me wrong. I can draw fairly well, write well enough. I can run long distances, though not very quickly. I can fight, in theory. I'm 27 years old and the only legal work anyone in their right mind would hire me to do is wait tables. Maybe I do hate the kid.

The Trouble With Pot

2010-08-19T09:15:00.002-05:00

You know what, people who say weed isn't addictive are full of frijoles. I'm not gonna sugar coat it for you, I've been on so many downers this summer it's a miracle I've been able to pry myself out of bed on less than 14 hours of sleep. That's right, I slept 14 hours the night before last. What's it like to be unconscious for the better part of the day? Well, it sucks, really. You feel like the biggest, fattest fucking loser on the planet, albeit a well rested fat fucking loser. More than half a day spent wrapped up in the covers like a twice baked burrito: for the birds. I abstained last night, slept 8 hours, and I feel like I could punch a hole through a wall upon waking. Not out of anger, mind you, that's just how much energy I have. I feel like Cary Grant in Singing in the Rain, all, Good Morning! Good Morn-ing!!! If you don't get the musical reference, you have no soul.

In related news, Betty White recently outed Cary Grant, like we didn't already know. Guy sings and dances for a living, not that hard to figure out.

Judgy Wudgy Was a Bear

2010-08-11T14:10:00.004-05:00

What's been going on with me lately I wonder? I haven't changed my dosage of Lexapro, and yet I feel disconnected from almost everything. My detachment won't matter in the least if I find myself on the wrong side of a speeding bus, but I can't help but find myself frozen in contemplation at inopportune times. It's as though the teenager in me has reemerged, hellbent on making me feel as though I don't belong anywhere, don't fit in with anyone. I know it is not without reason that I am distancing myself from family and friends going on months now, I just don't know if it is good reason.

Okay, I'll start with how disappointed I have become with my friends, not my oldest and dearest friends mind you, but my work friends. George came down for an extended visit some weeks ago, and I was proud to say that I had actually managed to make myself some guy friends that I was thrilled to introduce him to. George, being one of the first straight male friends I had managed to make in adulthood, I figured he too would be ecstatic to find that I had fully branched out beyond just being the gay guy that girls confide in, and found common ground with not one, but several guys. I don't care that the last sentence was a run-on, riddled with grammatical errors, so neither should you. There I was, on the patio at happy hour sweating my nuts off, surrounded by male friends looking like Danny muthafuckin' Zuko in front of a very impressed George. We were to break off for a beer run, and meet the fellas back at the pool. We sat in the water for something which was like an hour, when we concluded that we must have gone to the wrong pool. Our mistake! So we ventured to our other frequented pools of this summer, only to find that they were not there either. My bubble was officially burst, nay, my bubble was taken out back and fucked by a dumpster, in a bad way. I lost so many cool points with George that afternoon, points that I'll have to earn back this weekend when he makes his way back to CStat.

So needless to say I will never trust any of them again, as they are all dead to me. I'm not gonna do anything rash, like delete them from my Facebook, but I will glare at them when they are not looking, as well as throw the occasional hex their way. That way, when they are met with even the slightest misfortune, I can take comfort in the fact that it was I who beset them.

How has my detachment effected my family you ask? Well, I'll tell you if you would just give me a fucking minute. Jesus. I didn't wish my nephew a happy 7th birthday. I know, how shitty do you have to be to not wish a kid a happy birthday!? It takes some kind of dick to withhold a birthday well wish from a child. But here's the thing, I've taken issue with said child. The boy, we'll call him Nathan, is a hundred fucking pounds. That's right, he's on the diabetes meal-plan at school, and it won't be long before he's summering at fat camp. This may sound way harsh, but I feel helpless to change him, therefore I can't bear to be around him. Some uncle I turned out to be. I feel pain in my heart when I hear about how he still shits himself on a regular basis. Why a 7 year old is still wearing diapers is beyond me. I don't feel qualified to treat such a condition, instead I take myself out of the equation. Perhaps, it is my inability to recall my childhood before the age of 12, that I put such a weak value on those years, as though nothing of note can occur, so why even commit them to memory. But what if this is a betrayal that cannot be forgiven. I love to judge, I do it in my sleep, but what if I am making a huge mistake in judging a child for his weakness for all foods? Time will tell, I suppose. But there may come a time when my propensity for judging will become a liability, no longer empowering me as it has in the past. Something to think about.

True Blood Recap 3x4 and 3x5

2010-07-26T18:45:00.003-05:00

Alright, let's get started. Franklin is a mysterious and deranged vampire sent by someone to learn about Bill or whoever. He asks a lot of questions and doesn't mind glamoring folks to get answers. He has apparently set his sights on Tara, and is planning on making her his vampire bride. The guy's got a voice that would melt a stick of butter, but likewise he's a butter face. I'd rather go ass to mouth and back to ass again than swap saliva with this Smigel-looking motherfucker. My condolences to you Tara, but better you than me.

Secondly, I understand that you just ate a stripper, but is it too much to ask for you to stock some wet naps in your limo? I'm not thrilled about Bill drinking human blood, but I'm not thrilled about Bill in general. Lorena can take a long walk off a short dick for all I care, typically when she's on screen, I can be found in the kitchen making another cocktail.

Hello purple polo! Say hello to Jesus, he's a Mesican, but he ain't raped nobody yet. Not buying this super sweet out of nowhere guy. Someone over at Television Without Pity suggested that he's a government plant set on busting V dealers. I mean, he went straight for Lafayette, which I find a little odd seeing how standoffish my Lafayette can be. Either way, he is easy on the eyes, let's just hope he's not hard on our hearts.

What can I say about Talbot's face that hasn't already been said about Afghanistan? It looks bombed out and depleted. It's looking like his character is heading for a staking, and I say the sooner the better. Because when this man talks my eyes roll, and honestly I don't know how much more my eyes can takes.

Tiffany called, she want her hairstyle back. Debbie Pelt is Alcide's ex, and she looks like she went and did all the drugs. She's batshit crazy and Sookie just can't stop pissing her off. It looks like the two of them are headed for a showdown, here's hoping Sookie is packing something sharp, not for stabbing mind you, but for unnecessary bangs-removal.

Meh

2010-07-26T12:24:00.007-05:00

So, what's been going on with me you ask? Not a whole hell of a lot.

I broke another damn phone. The age old question of whether or not cell phones are water proof was once again answered by yours truly. It's a lesson I just can't stop learning apparently. So, in the mean time I'll just have to be content to sit in my apartment on my day off completely radio silent.

In other news, I applied for a got hired at another restaurant. What's it like having two jobs you ask? Well, it's pretty awesome when you consider that some have none. Here I am, this guy that can clean up like no other, waltz into a fine dining establishment, and turn in some killer references. Do I like tooting my own horn? No, but who else is gonna if not me?

I ventured to Cinemark yesterday to watch the new Angelina Jolie. What a steaming pile of nutty shit that was. I would rather jerk off for two hours than sit through that mess ever again, and you all know how much I hate doing things for myself when I can get someone else to do it for me. The appeal of watching a 90 pound woman beat up grown men sometimes three times her size had already been worn pretty thin back when Wanted came out a couple years back. The only thing one should fear when confronting Jolie would be a flailing elbow or a protruding rib. I don't think deadly weapon when I picture those little balled up fists of hers, I think cheeseburger. But then again, I always think cheeseburger. Also, was anyone else a tad offended when Jolie, posing as a Mexican at a hotel, donned brown contact lenses and a fake grill. Seriously, save the gangled teeth for Halloween, bitch.

Another movie I had the pleasure of watching recently was The Crazies. Timothy Olyphant was the lead, and let me tell you, I would watch that man read the holy bible so long as he did it shirtless. I can't remember much about the movie, some people go mad, some get shot and lit on fire, just another day at the office for me.

I'm in another one of my funks. It's just so hard to care sometimes. When you roll out of bed effortlessly thinish, hair tousled in that way that people spend hundreds on trying to mimic, seldom successfully, it becomes a task to find something to spend your time on. When you stand before a mirror thanking god for arranging so many pleasing to behold features a top the epitome of masculine builds, what do you have to worry about? I think about growing a beard, but that makes me even more desirable to cougars. No kidding, I asked this lady at the restaurant if she was enjoying her meal, she replies, "It's the best thing I've ever had in my mouth!". Seriously, you're old enough to be my mom(if you got knocked up at age 11)so cool it with the innuendo already.

Other than having a ton of self confidence completely disproportionate to my abilities or looks, I'm feeling a bit lonely these days. I love Cory, and I am a happy person, I just get so bored sometimes. Having George visit last week was so much fun even when we weren't having any. I don't have friends in town. I know my girls would jump in front of a bus for me,(not to save my life, just because I asked)but there is something to be said about being in the company of men. I get to break barriers with my guy friends. A lot of the time I get to change their minds about gays and lesbians. Well, not so much about lesbians because even I don't know what goes on in a girl's head to make her want to eat snatch. But in my own small way I'm paving the way for future generations by just being me. Like I said earlier, I don't want to toot my own horn, but I'm going to anyway, I rock. That is all.

I Wish I Was Special

2010-07-16T00:49:00.001-05:00

Cause I'm Bored

2010-07-08T13:50:00.004-05:00

Because nobody asked for it, say 'hello' to your new Spiderman! That's right, Sony Pictures has seen fit to reboot the franchise, after officially sucking the appeal out of Kirsten Dunst and Tobey Maguire. Shortly after leaving their empty former-ingenue husks to rot, they embarked on a mission for fresh blood. At first I dismissed the inclusion of Andrew Garfield on their list of potential replacements, as his is not a household names here in the states. But that may have been the selling point for this Brit: he won't command the same paycheck that his predecessor did before him. I read somewhere that the first film will see him walking home with a $500,000 paycheck. Don't get me wrong, this little bitch is going to need a very big coin purse in the coming years, but $500,000 is probably what they were paying for Maguire's on-set fluffer by the end of the last trilogy. Come to think of it, Garfield may have been better suited in an altogether different capacity as far as the new films are concerned. His hair is very fluffy after all.

In similar news, Chris Evans will be portraying Steve Rogers in the upcoming Captain America movie. He's got the build for it, but Evans is about as convincing an actor as I am an athlete. I suppose the same methods will be utilized in this movie as in the Fantastic four films, meaning he will be shirtless or on fire for the majority of it. I would be fine with both of those scenarios.

I saw Eclipse the other day, and let me say I was just a bit disappointed at the audience's lack of reaction whenever Jacob was shirtless. The last time I saw a Twilight adaptation, the horny 40-somethings were absolutely rabid at the sight of Lautner's glistening pectorals. We got all kinds of varied showcases of muscles too! Jacob's chest under the moonlight, Jacob's abs as rain trickles down them, Jacob's well-developed shoulders with a ridiculously unconvincing wig draped over them. I suppose this time around it was just been there done that as far as his tits were convinced. There just wasn't that same longing as in the sequel. Perhaps he should stop taking his top off for every magazine that throws a dollar his way. Maybe it's the fact that his is no longer forbidden, the fruit. Either way

Goldicocks

2010-07-06T19:02:00.007-05:00

Forgive me for bitching, good for Thomas Jane being Hung and all, but the show just doesn't have balls. In the premiere episode of season 2, his character is faced with the task of achieving intimacy with a very beautiful, pregnant woman. I'm sorry, but I need my HBO a little less Lifetime television for women and gay men, and more Spike television for men and gay men. And while I understand that the show has a mere 22 minute running time, is that any reason to rob the viewers of the guilty feeling often associated with HBO's original programming? I think not.

Aside from the fact that Anne Heche is botoxed to within an inch of her considerable forehead, I cannot fathom how and why they decided to cast those two monsters as their teen-aged children.

How is it that a series on MTV has more guts than one on HBO. The Hard Times of RJ Berger is a new show that premiered a few weeks ago. It's about a down-on-his-luck dweeb whose secret endowment is made public during a basketball game. From then on his fellow classmates see him as either freak or sex object, obviously this leads to all kind of wacky situations and hilarious pratfalls. I was fairly amused by the first episode, when as revenge for his taunting, he rubs his ball sweat onto his bully's face. That's some good writing right there. I was equally disappointed when I learned in a few episodes, that RJ Berger is the Mary Sue of MTV--meaning he would merely vie for the heart of the prettiest girl in school until the season finale where he tells her he loves her. Seriously, haven't we seen this shit before?

In episode four, his cougar neighbor pays him to do odd chores around the house. Of course she turns out to be the odd chore, merely biding her time until initiating a May-December romance. This kid is what, 16 years old? What hormonally-driven teenager turns down sex, let alone from the hot, older next-door neighbor? This is where the show lost me I suppose. The premise of your show can't promise taboo, and deliver virtue. To do so is a disservice to all us perverts out there looking for a cheap thrill.

True Blood Recap 3x3

2010-07-01T05:32:00.007-05:00

"Wow. Hey there. Wasn't expectin' company."

First of all, what the fuck was going on with the Mickens men when Sam showed up unexpectedly? Grown men have no business watching Wheel of Fortune, or what have you, when there's a boner in the room--especially when said boner is attached to them. I didn't really pay attention to much else during this scene, I was too busy bleaching the inside of my brain after watching Papa Mickens adjust his junk for half a minute.

"Where were we? Oh, right."

Pam finally got laid! Granted, it was Eric's leftovers, but yay for her either way. I'm stoked that the writers are really trying to flesh out her character before they kill her off. In the next episode we should get to see her taking a dump. Vampires eat, yeah? So, where does the blood go exactly? Let's get an answer to this question before they kill off my favorite character for shock value.

"Nine weeks? Are you Sure?"

Well, It looks like Arlene is going to have Rene's crazy baby. For those of you who don't remember, Rene is her serial killer ex-fiance from season 1. I really don't see the point of pregnancy on this show. The entire season thus far has occurred over a few week period. We would need at least 15 seasons for Arlene to actually come to term. I don't see myself sticking around that long.

"Are you Afflicted?"

Why yes, he is afflicted. Seriously, people, this guy looks like a sun-bleached turd. How the hell am I supposed to find him fuckable when I wouldn't even stop to put change in his cup. The guy looks beat. The guy looks like he's looking to eat some brains. The fact that Anna Paquin is engaged to him is an altogether different mystery. Because, if I saw this guy in a dark alley, I would throw holy water at him regardless if I knew he was a vampire or not.

"Oh, William. I still love you."

What the fuck just went down? I've honestly never been that grossed out by television. He twists her head 180 degrees while he's sexing her? It's enough to make me stop watching the damn show altogether. Who am I rooting for at this point? There's Sooki, who doesn't have a thought in her fucking head. There's Jason, who spends the entire hour juggling his last three working brain cells. There's Sam, who zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Tara is a zombie again, this time for a broke-ass British vampire. Bill looks like a powdered donut that got left out in the cold. I'm so frustrated at my crappy TV show prospects this summer I could just light myself on fire. Ugh, I think I'm having Modern Family withdrawals.

Flashing Lights

2010-06-28T21:18:00.000-05:00

True Blood Recap 3x1, 2

2010-06-28T20:19:00.011-05:00

Cory doesn't want to watch the new episode of True Blood until the sun goes down, so I'm just gonna entertain myself for a few minutes with a recap of the last two episodes.

"I hear the water in Arkansas is...very hard."

Sam's dream sequence was funny if you're a straight man or woman, like most of my friends. But for me and Cory, it was strictly 'quiet time'. For two whole minutes neither of us uttered a single word, as Bill attempted, and successfully, to seduce Sam. As someone who has had a dream or two about the opposite sex only to wake up mortified, I wasn't upset at Sam's delight upon realizing is was all a dream. The other night I had a dream where a demon woman was ingesting virgins through her vagina, but that was no worse than the nightmares I've had about sex with women.

"Hell hath no fury like a vampire queen broke."

I'm liking Sophie Anne a bit more this season, as she is less child-like in her behavior and much more desperate. I'm curious to know how old she is exactly. Because If Eric is 1,000 years old, than she has to be pretty ancient to command him. Or maybe her superiority is merely symbolic, she is a queen after all. Either way, I loathe the character of Eric, and enjoy seeing him taken down a peg occasionally.

"You pickin' up what I'm puttin' down?"

Pam is definitely in it this season. I stick to my theory that her increased presence is a means to endear her to fans so that when her character is eventually slowly, and painfully killed, it will reap all the more sympathy. That doesn't mean that I won't enjoy all of her quips and one-liners until her eventual and probable demise. Not that I have any beef with Lafayette, but he really shouldn't get into the habit of calling vampires bad names. Hooker, indeed.

"Cooter? Seriously?"
Cooter, welcome to the ever-expanding cast, and my ever-expanding trousers. This sexy bitch is definitely going into the spank bank, filed under: throw me against a wall now, please. This show was just getting overrun by crusty, old vampires. There is almost nothing sexy about a man that looks about as ashy as a well-built chimney. Please, don't die before we see the rest of your body.

"This is Jesus. He's a Mesican, but he ain't raped me yet."

Alfre Woodard, I haven't seen your old ass since Wisteria Lane tried to diversify their portfolio. You were grossly underused on that show, so let's hope that doesn't happen again, shall we. Alfre knows how to act, and she did more while reclining in one scene, than some of the actors on this show have done in two whole seasons. I don't care one bit if she hates Mexicans, so long as she does it well.

"Oh, goodie, I'm just in time for dessert."

Lorena, you tiresome old slag, I hope Bill isn't just fantasizing that he set you on fire. You are exhausting in your efforts to win him back. First of all, he looks like that white dog crap from the seventies. Secondly, there doesn't need to be a secondly, that much is a deal breaker, ladies. He flat irons his hair into a questionable style(it really isn't okay to rock the butt-cut in 2010. I'm looking at you too, Sam Merlotte). He has wrinkles for days, and he is unnecessarily short. He proposed after, like, one month. This guy is all kinds of pale wrong. If you do survive being on fire and stuff, you should really explore other opportunities. Or, just spare me and die.

Today's Rant: The Step Away From The Auto-Tune Edition

2010-06-28T14:08:00.010-05:00

Don't get me wrong, Enrique Iglesias is the kitten's mittens, but what the cock is up with his new single? Guy could light a fire in my chonies with one glance, but I'll be damned if he didn't just sell his soul to make a buck. I thought the future was supposed to be about flying cars, hoverboards and insta-color nails! I signed up for a world overrun by zombies, not zero-talent "artists" who auto-tune the human out of their voices. Where the fuck is the appeal? People used to find it tiresome when celebrities were manufactured by the likes of Disney. But it's like after American Idol, we're all too content to watch fat executives and over-the-hill celebrities determine what drivel will pollute the airwaves for years to come.

Hell, it wasn't that long ago that I didn't even know what auto-tuning was. All along, I really believed that that's what Britney Spears' voice sounded like. I never put two and two together that when she sang she sounded just like the lady you talked to when you over the phone pay your utility bill. I really should have, because when you hear the girl speak, she sounds like she just crawled out the back of an old pickup truck a whole lot more pregnant than when she climbed in. Whatever, she and the lot of them can take a flying leap off my dick for all I care, I've simply had enough.

And now we have Glee to contend with. As if it wasn't bad enough that I've had to sit through Matthew Morrison and his soulless rap routine in every goddamn episode(Mr. Shu, we want to see you bust a move, but please stop singing about it already), now I have to listen to barely-there voices pulled and stretched to robotic proportions. I've got an idea, how about we only cast people with good singing voices? No? Oh, alright. I will continue to watch because, wait, why do I continue to watch?

Kurt's face is nearly as annoying as his singing voice. Artie insists on fighting the hot with sweater vests. Puck looks like the guy who blew you at a rest stop and then asked you for a ride to an AA meeting afterward. Mr. Shuester's got a face I'd rather punch than fuck. I wouldn't kick Jesse St. James out of my butt, but they done wrote dickalicious off the show. And, that really doesn't leave much to ogle, does it?

Work Woes V

2010-06-17T16:38:00.006-05:00

I am so fucking tired of writing about work, but really it's all I've got going on in my life at the moment. And by that, I mean it's the only bad thing I've got going on. Cory is great, family is great, friends are great. Work is a straight up bitch, and here's why.

The other day some fucking hillbillies complained about me to the manager on duty. Their initial gripe was sound. I did take a little while longer than I should have to pay them out. I was in the back fulfilling some of my other work responsibilities(nothing whorish), and lost track of time. Maybe they had to wait 10 minutes for their check, maybe. That's all it took to tick these trashy shits off. First came the part where they pay me with exact change. Bitchy, yes, but I've dealt with worse. Perhaps my lack of response or surprise at the revelation of no tip was what sealed the deal for them. I thanked them for their patronage and I went about my business.

Then these hills have eyes-looking motherfuckers made with the bitching. I took too long to greet them, to take their order, I never checked back to see how their food was, I was absent for most of their stay. All bullshit. When people want something free, they say whatever they have to to get it. And here's the rub, they refused to look me in the eye the entire time they ranted about me. Dead giveaway that someone is not on the level. If you are going to jeopardize somebody's flow of income, the least you could do is look them in the fucking eye. This is something people don't get. What if I had a sick granny at home? What if my wife just had a baby prematurely? None of these things are true, my life is awesome, but the same can't be said for everyone that waits tables.

The point I'm trying to make is what the fuck ever happened to the golden rule? Most people in the service industry, cashiers, store clerks, etc., only have to deal with your grumpy asses for a few minutes at most. Servers have to cater to your whims for hours at a time. We are not perfectly-programmed robots. We sweat, we starve, get dehydrated during a shift, not in spite of you of course. Please don't take it personally when you need another side of ranch dressing because your salad isn't quite floating, and I've got a case of the taco shits. I promise I won't be gone for long, try to make due with what you have. Fuck this fucking job.

I promise not to talk about work anymore.

In other news, I saw this picture of Taylor Lautner the other day, and I had an epiphany. Well, first I thought, 'fuck that twinky llama-looking bitch for having a truly magnificent body at 18'. Second, I thought, 'fuck, I need to go on a diet'. I started running again yesterday, but I'm still able to get on and off of the toilet with minimal effort so maybe I didn't run hard enough. Regardless, I'm back on the wagon, and I'm on a twice-a-day grilled chicken diet. No other land-roving meat whatsoever. Also, I'm sticking with free-range, because to do otherwise is just bitchy and you all know it.

I know I'll never have a body like Lautner, because I'm not bowlegged as hell and I don't shave my legs(punk bitch), but that's not gonna stop me from trying to have the best body I can. Unless I forget all about this declaration and get fat again. Whatever.

Welcome Back Alison

2010-06-10T22:20:00.000-05:00

Nerdgasm

2010-06-09T12:01:00.000-05:00

Man Witch

2010-06-08T12:54:00.004-05:00

I'm not saying I'm a witch, per se, but I'm working with some serious voodoo these days. It's no secret that I've always thought of older Mexican women as witches, or bruhadas if you will. They do odd things, like my coworker in Vegas, Carmen. She practiced the spilling of salt to ward off unwelcome guests. If I had a table of campers(Campers-people that refuse to leave a restaurant even after closing time. To learn more, stay in a restaurant after closing time and observe the glare of servers), Carmen would instruct me to pour a bit of salt in my hand, and drop it on the ground near a party. She said in a matter of minutes, they will suddenly leave, even if they have been cooling their heels for hours, they will leave. Get this, it worked every fucking time!

A few weeks ago, a coworker of mine spurned me. I found a bracelet on the ground one shift, and he told me he wanted it for himself. Even though I liked the bracelet very much, I let him have it anyway because sharing is caring. Two days later it's on his brother's wrist. How dare he steal the bracelet that I gifted his brother. I walked right up to him and instructed him to hold out his hand. He did as I asked, and with my index finger I touched the piece of rubber jewelry and placed upon it a curse. I told him that under no circumstance was he to remove it, else something terrible befall him. Sure enough, days later, something terrible did happen to him. He was playing volleyball at his apartment complex sand court, and his foot came down on a spiked-gear. It sliced his foot down the length of it, and it ran 8 centimeters deep. The ER nurses told him that it was the grossest thing they'd ever seen! Fat and bone was easily identifiable through the gash, and he has been confined to crutches ever since. In the famous words of Steve Urkel, "Did I do that!?"

It happened again, sure enough. On our most recent camping trip, which I have yet to blog about, we were all admiring a pop-up camper parked next to us when the unthinkable happened. There we were, giving these people and their privilege 'Ojo',(Ojo or 'Evil Eye'-Unwittingly putting bad juju on something that you admire and consequently destroying it in the process. To learn more about Ojo, befriend an old Mexican woman)when suddenly the woman cooking dinner on her collapsible grill burned her hand. It was like that scene in The Craft, when the four catholic school girl uniform-wearing, 30 something-looking bitches looked at the homeless man which resulted in his death by many cars running over him! Okay, maybe she just scalded her hand, but whatever. The fact of the matter is, something strange is going on here, and it warrants my rant and overreaction.

If anyone is concerned about the guy with the cursed bracelet, you'll be happy to know that he got the first job he applied for after graduating college a mere days after his 'accident'. Perhaps, after the curse, a vacuum occurred wherein bad luck had once resided, and good fortune rushed in to fill it? Or maybe, just maybe, In hexing another, I also gift them with a portion of my own good luck, and in doing so am screwing myself over in the long run. Or maybe his accident made for a good story and his future-employer pitied him enough to offer him the job. Whatever, I'm still a fucking witch and you better not cross this shit.

You Snooze, You Loser and Work Woes IV

2010-06-08T11:55:00.004-05:00

This morning when Cory's alarm went off, it got me thinking about people that hit the snooze button rather than just outright admit defeat. I say so, because that's what we all are when when go to work everyday: defeated. Except for a few instances in life, I have never opted for an extra 10 or 15 minutes of rest; what's the point after all? Your day if fucked either way you look at it, we all ultimately answer to one or more people on a daily basis, hundreds if you are in the service industry. What exactly is there to be happy about, and exactly how much comfort does one attain from an additional handful of minutes of sleep? This leads me to my most recent work predicament.

I got absolutely lambasted by a guest at my restaurant a few weeks ago. Of course, they chose not to complain on the day of the offense, instead they waited until it was too late for me to do anything about it. They wrote a letter to corporate that basically made it seem like it was my first week waiting tables(it's been three years, sadly). I thought about typing up the letter, which I have a copy of, but fuckin' A it's a fucking long letter, and I just don't have that kind of time. Who the fuck complains about the job a server performs unless said server straight up crop dusts a table as they walk by(Crop Dusting-The act of directing a fart toward a table as you happen by. To learn more about crop dusting, go out and rent Still Waiting)? The last time I complained about a server was when he spilled a tray of margaritas on me...Twice! Not only did he not offer to get them remade, he set the half-empty glasses on the table for our enjoyment. So there I am, margarita running down by back to my butt crack, and management is like, "Sorry, there's nothing I can do for you." How about a towel, dickbag!?

I don't go out expecting free shit, but there are those that do. And you can bet your ass that the bitch that complained about me got at least $50 in free shit for her next visit. Not only could I have lost a job that I already hate, but she's eating for free, and all it took was her making up a bunch of shit about me. Because I am a damn good server, as much as it pains me to say. I can multitask like a son of a bitch. I can multitask like my father, with one family in Bryan, TX, one in Dallas, and one in Mexico for all I know. I can multitask like one in my mouth and one in each hand, if you know what I'm sayin'? And if that twat ever shows her face at my restaurant again, you better believe that will be my last day working there.

Carry on, Bags

2010-05-28T11:13:00.003-05:00

What in gay hell did they do to my show!? Let me preface this movie review by saying that I have watched the SatC series in it's entirety more than a couple of times. What started out as a cautionary tale for 30 somethings devolved into a fucking fairytale complete with horse drawn carriage rides by the 6th and final season. It left me wondering whatever became of the four original characters that I used to enjoy?

Carrie was basically a high class hooker with a heart of gold, mostly because of all the casual sex and a propensity for getting picked up by men on the street. She wore revealing clothing, had an affair with a married man, and was once literally gifted with a thousand dollars after a night of sex. Hooker.

Samantha was a straight up whore, and I'm gladdened and saddened by their refusal to make her anything but. Carrie said it herself in the very first episode, that Samantha was gifted with the self-deluded confidence that made men like Ross Perot run for president. What ever happened to that snark? I don't think that originally we were supposed to view her promiscuity as anything but a joke. Unfortunately, they went the route of 'sluttiness equals female empowerment". Whatever.

Charlotte was originally the waspy, elitist, Park Avenue Pollyanna. Sure enough she stayed that way, except that by the end of the series was just as big a slut as Samantha. Whatever, she was looking for love the whole time.

Last but not least we have Miranda. Miranda was originally the uber-neurotic, tom-boyish lawyer(though we never saw her in court once). Am I the only once who remembers her parading around Manhattan in overalls and baseball caps?

The last time I walked out of a theater in the middle of a movie, was when I went to see Unbreakable. I won't get into how goddamn awful that movie was, only that it was 10 years ago when that shit went down. Congratulations Michael Patrick King, You've officially put me off an entire franchise! The plot was convoluted, and consisted of the most banal of problems you can imagine. Oh no, Mr. Big wants to put a television in your bedroom. You married a 50 year old, and you're shocked that occasionally you're gonna have to fall asleep watching Leno? Miranda quits her job because she wants to go see her son get an award for, like, best Macaroni art? What the fuck ever. Charlotte is stressed out because she has an awful daughter that never stops crying? Hello, you have a full-time nanny. It's no reason to up and leave the Country. Samantha's plot revolves around her staving off the ravages of menopause. You had a good run, slut. Did you ever stop to think that eventually you were going to have to close up shop?

I really wanted to get a refund, but Cory said we didn't have the grounds for it. Thinking that a movie is trite, he claimed, was not a good enough reason to demand our money back. Oh well.

Two for the Price of One

2010-05-26T10:07:00.001-05:00

This post isn't really about Ian Somerhalder as 'Damon' on Vampire Diaries, but I couldn't resist the urge to include a shirtless pic of this sexy cross-eyed bitch. I know most girls and gays get positively moist when he uses his smoldering grin to charm the young ladies of Mystic Falls, but it increasingly seems that I alone remain immune. Hairpiece aside, the guy does very little for me. I'm not gonna go so far as to call him a brown bag special, after all his mug has made him nearly a household name. However, I will say that if he doesn't quit making that face, eventually it is going to get stuck that way. If you watch the show, you know what I'm talking about.

Anybitterbeerface, it was a real treat to find that the role of Isabelle, Elena's vampire mommy, was cast by none other than Jenny 'Crazy Bitch' Schecter'(or as most of you know her, Mia Kirschner). I had a famous saying about Schecter(which Cory later tried unsuccessfully to pass off as his own) "don't fuck with Jenny, she'll cut you...and then she'll cut herself." I would love to go into all the havoc that Jenny wrought on our favorite L.A. lesbians, but I have to be at work in a few hours so there's simply not enough time. I will say that her turn as Isabelle is the role she was destined for. It's like all the evil you never understood in The L word suddenly makes sense; she was a vampire all along! It's nice to finally have closure.

So Bonnie is all of a sudden a very powerful witch? Where once she could only light candles with the power of her mind, and make feathers float in midair, she can now quell fire, and levitate your favorite book off of a bookcase. Slap me with a rubber chicken for not being impressed. So, you can imagine my surprise at the end of the season finale, when she's getting all in Stefan's face to tell him that she is the new sheriff in town, and Damon had better shape up or ship the fuck out. Stefan should have just told her to holler back when her wonk eye sobers up and finds it rightful place on that head of hers. There's only room on the WB/UPN/CW for one crazy-eyed witch, and her name is Prue Halliwell.

Steven R. Mcqueen as 'Jeremy' is pants down my favorite brooder this season. I really hope he does turn into a vampire, maybe then he'll stop bitching all the time. Also, vampires hardly ever wear shirts as evidenced by the Salvatore brothers, it would be a nice change of pace from having to ogle 'hairpiece' and 'eating disorder' all the time(Damon and Stephan, I'm looking at you). Also, if Jeremy's girlfriends could somehow stop getting themselves killed, I wouldn't hate that.

And last but not least, Catherine has finally decided to make an appearance, and in the coolest way possible: by chopping off John Gilbert's fingers and then stabbing him in the gut. Seriously, I don't want to like her, but if she hadn't done it, I might have. Daddy Gilbert was as annoying as the actor who plays him is bloated. And, the little bitch killed my beloved Anna as well as her mother, Pearl. So, if you ask me he got off light.

My wish list for next season goes as follows: Paul Wesley eats a cheeseburger for every one of his ribs that he broke while sneezing this season. Elena Gilbert experiments with bangs and smiling and one or both result in her death, after which Catherine can take her place permanently. Jeremy takes off his shirt in the season premiere and then just never puts it back on. Bonnie has a little more bite to go with her bark. Oh, and Alaric puts a stake in his dick of a wife Isabelle, after which he asks, "how's your stake, bitch?" Yep, that pretty much sums it up.

Welcome to the

2010-05-20T12:15:00.004-05:00

Frankly, I'm a little underwhelmed at the lack of contributions to our wedding registry. From what my sister tells me, people wait until the last minute to purchase gifts and what not. I'm gonna go ahead and call bullshit on that one. We are t-minus 55 hours until the ceremony, and a whopping 6 people have donated. And while I am remiss to use the 'D' word, that's exactly what a registry is. Could it be that most don't view what we're doing as actual matrimony?

We are not playing make-believe here. Surely people aren't under the impression that we're merely throwing a party in my sister's backyard. I don't throw parties, just in case you didn't know that about me. The one time I tried to throw a party post-high school, nothing went as planned. I spent over a bill on beer, hours compiling a party playlist, to find that only half a dozen people would show up. So, there I am sitting at the dining room table, while three utterly undesirable homos fondled each other in my living room. You'll understand why, at 1am, I excused myself to my quarters. So will people merely be placating us with their presence on Saturday? We will see. And if anyone so much as winces when they see me smooch the groom for the first time, they will have the wedding party to contend with, specifically Leyna. She has promised to shield me from any and all haters that may be in attendance. You know, the folks that think they are at a carnival freak show.

In other less bitter news, I am positively pooping at getting to decorate our venue. We have several volunteers, and many lights to hang. After typing this, I'm realizing that I don't do well with writing when it's on a cheerful subject. I really need to just stick to the bitching. So be it.

Hyppocralypse Now

2010-05-11T14:34:00.010-05:00

Okay, this is beginning to get ri-goddamn-diculous. Come out of the closet or don't for all I care, just stop torturing those that have. How much lube has to spill before people wise up to the fact that the unholiest of us all are the ones pointing their fingers at everyone else. How many men of the cloth have to get caught with their bloomers down before we all start acknowledging that those with power like the occasional boy-whore? And please, spare us and yourself the embarrassment of responding to the allegations with this nonsense. If you really expect us to believe that your old ass hired a 20 year old male escort so that he and his 8x6 inch cock could help you carry your luggage, than you made an age old mistake, my friend: you started believing your own bullshit. The difference between you and any one of the correspondents on Fox News, is that at the end of the day, they go home knowing full well that they're liars. But as soon as the cameras stop rolling, you bet your hooker's ass that they're headed straight home to cry themselves to sleep on their hundred dollar pillows.

Speaking of closet homos, this bitch I work with got it in his fool head that he is to gays what catnip is to cats. Okay so check it, I met this guy a couple years ago. He was cute enough, tall, dark hair, green eyes with a devilish grin. No joke, from the waist up and the neck down the guy had it going on. His legs were a gangled up mess, and his face looked something like the harelip 'after' picture, but his torso was enviable. So, you can understand my compliance when the gay devil on his shoulder would compel him to grab my ass during the middle of a busy shift. It was just harmless fun, lest I return the favor in which case it becomes gay. It used to be that I would push him away, and feign disinterest or mock disgust. Because, having an attractive-looking 20 year old shower you with attention is something all us old farts should enjoy, but that's as far as it can go. Unfortunately, things would only escalate.

Cut to two years later, and I find myself in a completely different situation. He, like so many others before him, let his relationship get the better of his abs. I ain't kidding you, there was no longer anything lovable about his handles. Likewise, my old methods had become even less effective. And since pushing him away was proving to be an unsuccessful deterrent to his whispering in my ear, I began to stand completely still. I'd hoped that if he perceived me as a willing participant, he might get the gay-panic and cease all advances. This too would prove fruitless, and whispering gave way to back rubs in full view of coworkers and managers alike. Resting his head on my shoulder, and or putting his arm around my waist as I placed orders, I would remind him of how disgusting he was and were my boyfriend to find out he would be on the receiving end of a beat down. Imagine my surprise when he began to take things further(I wasn't really all that surprised, actually).

He began to inquire what positions Cory and I enjoyed, as well as my taste for a certain bodily emission. He asked me what I might do to him were he to approach me fully aroused. All of this he asked me in the crudest ways possible, and without regard for anyone else that happened to be within earshot. Call me naive, but what does an allegedly straight 22 year old man have to gain from this type of behavior? Does he, as Cory alleges, merely want to bang? Is it because he will be leaving for the military in a matter of months? Either way, I can't abide this behavior any longer. I just don't think I'm ready for that jelly, you know?

Debbie Dowry

2010-05-07T00:17:00.008-05:00

Do you remember what it was like when someone put a ring on your finger? Or even just told you they loved you, really and truly? Someone chose you. Not like it matters as far as your self worth is concerned, but someone found you appealing enough, charming enough to tie down in matrimony. How flattering is that!? Granted, you don't really understand marriage, what matters is he definitely does. He has a vice-firm grasp on the concept. He is willing, nay, insistent on chaining you to a historically limp, sexist, and passe institution. Kind of makes you understand the meaning behind the tradition. Kind of. Seriously though, it's mostly about securing your future cooch-privileges. I challenge you to prove otherwise.

No but really, I went off my Lexi. I thought four months was long enough to change my brain chemistry; long enough to turn my upside down frown right side up. I was so very wrong. It took a couple weeks for the drug to work it's way out of my system. The entire time I attempted to cling to my new-found clarity, never stopping to consider that the rainbows and kittens would disappear entirely, leaving behind clouds and full-grown house cats. Seriously, happy started feeling fake again, joy almost forced. I was no longer effortlessly content, enjoying a downward hill roll. I was trying like hell to climb up a mountain, where happiness, if lucky, I might find. I'd even lost the ability to fake a smile at work, which is completely unacceptable in the service industry. I'm just about back to gas station Ral, the Ral that couldn't be bothered to smile.

Where I go from here is yours to guess. Should I stay off the happy pills, and see a therapist? Or should I bid a final farewell to my orgasm and make Lexapro my precious once again? Forget to tell you about that did I? Well, Lexi makes the sexi about as stimulating as a game of poker without the mandatory stripping. Lexi makes the sexi feel like trying to fight your way out of a fucking pillow. Lexi makes the sexi feel like putting your dick in cold peanut butter. I went there.

Lexapro update: Kosmo just picked up the bottle of Lexi and brought it to me while I was doing my hair. He let it go and then looked down at it and me. If that isn't a sign that our kids are tired of seeing their daddies fight, then I don't know what is. Goodbye orgasm, we had a good run, but my sanity wins this day.

Why So Gay in the Face?

2010-05-05T12:13:00.010-05:00

What is 'gay face' exactly? It seems to be a very commonly used term these days, especially when referring to celebrities. Urban Dictionary seems to think they have a pretty good idea of what it is, though they chalk it up to the facial expressions we gays are apt to use. It also claims that gays, especially older gays, love them some eyebrow maintenance and tanning to the point of leathery skin. You know, I was just sitting here thinking, 'my skin isn't leathery enough, nor are my eyebrows as thin as I'd like'. These fucking fuckers.

A friend of mine a while back was dating this guy. She was happy, and that's all that mattered at the time. The problem was, the guy came off as gayer than Cory watching five seasons of Ally Mcbeal in a month's time(true story). I didn't think it to look at him, it was only until after our being introduced that an alarm sounded. Upon hearing of their breakup, I asked my friend, we'll call her Fruity McGay-Magnet, how it was that she managed to date a homo for as long as she had. She claimed that although he had a gay face, he certainly didn't fuck like a gay man. I asked her if they did it with the lights out, because that is exactly how gay men have sex with women--lights off, dildo harnessed. After a fit of laughter(I was the one doing the laughing of course, all the while she stood there attempting to will me dead using only the power of her mind, as this awful exchange was occurring in front of an audience of our coworkers), I asked her how often they did the shebang? The answer was all the proof I needed: a few times. So this guy strings you along for months, nails you a couple of times(probably with the aid of a stunt-cock), tells you he could see himself marrying you after a week spent in New York with his family, and then he dumps you because the semester looks to be a grueling one. Poor girl didn't stand a chance. It was weeks later when she informed me that she had a new make out partner. The new make out partner was some bisexual kid she met at Halo the weekend before. I informed her that a pattern was forming, that bisexual was just the last stop before gay town, and then I bid her adieu. Because there is denial(which I am a big fan of personally), and then there's bat-shit crazy delusional, and I just can't have that in my life.

Now, I'd always assumed that a gay face is one that has a hard wiener in or around it. For instance, when I see Derek Hough jogging sans top, I don't automatically think gay face. I think, twinky, shirtless, jogging bitch-boy with a case of fetal alcohol syndrome. I'm sorry, that was hella disrespectful and insensitive. Should I have capitalized 'fetal alcohol syndrome' when referring to his busted mug? It's so hard to keep up with this p.c. bullshit. Don't get me wrong, I'd hit if faster than Chris Brown, but dammit if his nose were any further from his mouth, it would be on a completely different face. But Google image 'gay face'(do not Google image 'gay face!'), and his is a face that'll likely turn up--right alongside pictures of Zac Efron, Chace Crawford, and Taylor Lautner. Seriously, to accuse these pretty bitches of having gay face, is merely an exercise in hating. It's like calling the head cheerleader a bitch. You're using a word you associate with naughty or wrong, and throwing it like a monkey throws poo, at someone more desirable than you. Grow up already, and go get yourself a facial if you need to feel better about yourself(though not the kind that Lautner is likely to be getting at one of Bryan Singer's house parties, the kind you buy at the drugstore).

So, I hope this clears up any confusion you might have about gay face. It is merely a backdoor insult that cowardly homophobes use to attack people that they suspect are gay, like when people accuse Obama of being a communist. Because if it were that easy to determine if someone were gay, than I would have gotten laid a lot more in high school, trust.

So Much Less than a Pretty Face

2010-05-02T15:47:00.003-05:00

This movie knocked my rocks off! It has been getting awful reviews, not to mention the forums at IMDB are teeming with nerds who are devout in their disapproval. Seriously, Dustin Rowles over at Pajiba ripped the Nightmare on Elm Street remake a new b-hole, then he proceeded to bang said b-hole until it was rendered useless. That is as graphic as I'm gonna get, though you should know I am actively restraining myself.

I really enjoy Katie Cassidy as 'Ella Simms' on Melrose Place,(yes, I'm still watching that nonsense) and was very pleased with her performance as 'Kris'. She succeeded Amanda Wyss as the 'dumb blond who goes outside at night to investigate a strange sound...in her pajamas'. She wins for me as the film's best screamer, and she did much of the leg work as far as exposition was concerned. I remember watching the character of Tina meeting her maker in that infamous scene from the original Nightmare movie, and thinking, 'fuck, that sucks. Why am I watching this movie again? I'm four goddamn years old'. This time around however, I was dreading the inevitability of it all. Ella Simms would have never gone out like that. Ella Simms would just reach into her Prada bag, pull out a nail-file, and saw off Freddy's ol' rotisserie-style dick like it ain't no thang.

The role of Nancy was cast well enough, but Rooney Mara didn't really do much with the part beyond what was demanded. She was willful, brave sure, but Heather Langenkamp played Nancy as angry. Langenkamp called her old drunk leather handbag-looking bitch of a mother out! Did I mention that in the original, they couldn't find an actress to play the role of Nancy's mother, so they just cast a baked potato instead?

This brings me to Connie Britton. Oh Connie, where do I begin? Shall I start with the fact that you played the role of Nancy's mom with about as much enthusiasm as me when I'm about to spend 30 minutes flat-ironing my hair? But really, when it came time to chase Fred Krueger through town with pitchforks, all she could muster was, "Guys, I think burning this guy alive might be going too far". Ya think? When she finally confessed to her daughter that she and a mob of angry adults got together and threw a barbecue some 15 years earlier, you wouldn't think that 'child molester' was on the menu with the way she delivered her lines.

Speaking of lame line-delivery, let's move on to Kyle Gallner, shall we? Putting aside the fact that the guy doesn't look half bad in a Speedo, can we talk about the sneer? Guy talks like it is a pain to do so. If you told me that he just happened to be passing a gallstone, I'd believe you. If you told me he was passing a dozen, and that they were each the size of a navel orange, again, I'd believe you. Don't get me wrong, I'd pass the gravy to that angsty bitch, no doubt, but I'd have to brown bag it. That's right, I can't get down with someone looks like they died half a week ago.

See you all next time, when we'll delve into the mystery of 'Gay Face'. Stay tuned!